100 Days
by MissSlothy
Summary: Steve's been keeping count of how long he and Danny have been a couple - it's been 66 days. It's been everything they'd hoped it would be. But everything goes horribly wrong when someone exacts revenge. What follows will test them both, mentally and physically. Will their relationship make it past the first 100 days? Story has 11 chapters, originally posted on AO3.
1. Chapter 1

H50H50H50

Steve's woken up by a boot connecting with his ribs.

He groans.

Hands grab him, roughly. Fingers dig into bruised skin. "Wake the fuck up, McGarrett."

He's lifted up against his will. The world spins. The taste of bile fills his throat. Shivering, he tries to get his feet under him. Too late he remembers his legs are shackled at the ankles. He's shackled at the wrists too. He pitches forward, falling to his knees. His vision wavers as everything spins again.

There's nothing in his stomach to expel but it tries anyway. His muscles protest at the violent activity. Sweat beads slide down his face. Exhausted, he lists sideways, his eyes drifting closed.

The sound of laughter fills his ears. It's a cruel, ugly sound.

H50H50H50H50

_**Two weeks earlier**_

**66 days**

Danny stamps on the Camaro's brake pedal. The problem is, it's not on his side of the car.

"Hey_. Hey_. Red light, Steve." His seat belt locks as Steve swerves around a car – a car that's stationary at an intersection because the lights are _red_.

Steve manages to shrug and swerve the Camaro back into a straight line at the same time. "I saw it."

"I know you saw it. You're supposed to go round it. Not _over_ it. Give 'em a chance to get out of the way for crying out loud."

Steve glares sideways. He gestures at the front of the car. "Blue lights, Danny."

"Which are supposed to warn them. They warn them an officer of the law is proceeding in an orderly manner to the scene of a crime—"

"Orderly _manner_?"

"Yes. An orderly manner. Something you still haven't learnt in the eight years we've been together."

"Sixty-six days."

"What?"

Steve takes his eyes off the road to look over. He waves his hand between them. "We've been together sixty-six days."

Danny's heart flips at the love in Steve's eyes. "You've been counting?"

"Yup."

Steve's grinning. It's soft, fond.

Danny grins back. Butterflies flutter in his stomach.

Steve's grin grows. "You love me."

He shakes his head at Steve's tone. It's proud and a little awed. Even after sixty-six days of the madness that is their life. "Of course I love you, you goof."

A car blasts its horn.

Danny's thrown against the door. Steve's drifting the back of the car out, executing a ninety degree turn to avoid an oncoming truck. He holds on for dear life as the truck's tires pass inches from his door.

"What the hell—"

"Sorry," Steve says. His eyes tell a different story.

"Jerk."

Steve takes the comment as it's intended. He snorts and changes up a gear, the corners of his lips twitching in a smile.

Danny pushes himself upright in his seat again. He's pretty sure he's left his stomach back on the highway somewhere.

A few minutes later, Steve kills the sirens and the flashing lights. Slowing down, he parks a couple of blocks from the destination. Putting the car in park, he switches off the engine. He glances at his watch. Suddenly he's serious, all business.

"Where the hell are they?"

Danny fiddles with the straps of his protective tac vest. "SWAT? Probably three blocks back, which is where we should be right now."

"We need to execute this warrant _now_, Danny. Fedorov's gonna split if we don't—"

"They'll be here—"

"He's already got away twice. If we don't move—"

Danny puts his hand on Steve's thigh and squeezes. "Breathe, babe. They'll be here."

Steve huffs. Clearly he's not convinced.

They've been working on this case for a month. Their target is Anton Fedorov. He's a playboy who lives a lavish, high-profile lifestyle. On paper it looks like he made his fortune in high-end European real estate. Behind the scenes though, Interpol has a file with his name on it. A very thick file.

In between visiting the glamorous vacation spots of the world, Fedorov's been bankrolling an international drug smuggling operation. As if that's not bad enough, he's suspected of laundering the money back into illegal weapons sales in the Middle-East and Chechnya.

So why isn't Fedorov already locked up in a jail somewhere? Because Fedorov runs a slick operation, never staying in one place for long. Wherever he goes in the world he's builds a network of well-paid informants. Every time the local law enforcement agency thinks they've got him he slips out of their grasp. Shutting down Fedorov's operations isn't difficult. It's – it's implicating him that's proving difficult.

Two months ago, he'd appeared in Hawaii.

In theory, the FBI had jurisdiction. They'd come up blank. The Governor had stepped in. Five-0 had been given the case. Insider knowledge of the islands was vital, the Governor had told the FBI. The island might have 1.5 million residents but it's still a small place when it comes to crime. Privately, behind closed doors, she'd made it clear to Steve they were on borrowed time. Interpol was desperate to catch Anton Fedorov. They weren't going to stand back for long.

They'd quickly discovered why Fedorov has slipped from the grasp of every law-enforcement agency. It was like he had someone watching them. They'd checked their phones, their computers, their cars. Whoever Fedorov had running surveillance on them, they were good. Jerry has barely left his bunker office since they've started the operation, trying to disrupt Fedorov's operation.

It quickly became obvious Anton Fedorov also had people on the inside, in HPD. Twice they'd got a solid lead on Anton's drug smuggling operation. Both times someone had tipped Fedorov off. This time, they've kept everything tight. Lou's hand-picked the SWAT team members. The Five-0 team are the only ones who know the exact location of the warehouse they're about to hit.

Danny breathes a sigh of relief as Lou's truck, Tani's car and two SWAT vans pull up behind them. Much longer and Steve would have been storming the warehouse on his own. As it is, Steve's out of the Camaro and striding over to the trucks before they've switched off their engines.

Lou's getting out of his truck. He raises a finger in warning. "Don't give me none of your yadda, yadda, yadda about how long you've been waiting. Some of us wanna live long enough to draw our pensions."

Danny snorts as he joins them. "Don't waste your breath, Lou." He pulls out his gun, checks its loaded. Around them HPD officers are getting out of the SWAT vans. "We all set?"

"We're all set." Lou glances back at Junior and Tani. Tani's leaning back on the car, arms crossed, outwardly calm. Junior's bouncing on the balls of his feet. Lou lifts his shotgun, weighing it in his hands. "What we waiting for?"

Steve grins. It's feral, all teeth. He hitches his gun on his hip. "Let's go."

Danny watches as Steve jogs in front of him. Gun raised, Steve's laser-focused. Anyone watching would know who's in charge. Once upon a time it would have grated with him. Now he feeds off it. It's like an addictive drug.

He can feel his heartrate rising. Fear and excitement are warring in his veins. This moment – when they've on the verge of a breaking a case – never gets old. It's why he's a detective. It's what gets him up every morning. Rachel had never understood that. Steve lives for it.

There's still the worry though. Steve and injuries go hand in hand. He wouldn't have been able to have a relationship with the Steve he'd met eight years earlier – the risk taker who'd been prepared to sacrifice everything for others. This Steve – _his Steve _– has mellowed with age. He'd still sacrifice himself in a blink of an eye for his Ohana. But maybe, just maybe, he'll think twice about sacrificing himself for complete strangers.

Maybe.

Danny shakes his head. Now's not the time to start analysing Steve's psyche. They've got an international criminal to arrest.

He looks back over his shoulder. Junior and Tani are behind him. Lou is bringing up the rear. The SWAT teams have split up and are fanning out, using the buildings for cover. The area's quiet but they still manage to scare a few innocent passers-by. Sensibly they head for cover.

Danny's glad. This could get messy. Steve had made it very clear at the operation briefing that Fedorov only hires the best men to protect his drugs operations. Enforcement officers have died trying to bring these guys down. Everyone is aware of the danger they're facing.

Danny tightens his grip on his gun.

His earpiece crackles into life.

"There's movement inside the warehouse." Jerry sounds breathless.

"Copy." Steve raises his fist. They halt. Using the edge of the building for cover, Steve peers round. "Surveillance cameras?"

There's the sound of typing on a keyboard. "Off-line, Commander. You've got three minutes until they come back on."

"Copy that." Steve glances back over his shoulder at them. He nods. He presses his earpiece. "All units. Go, go, go."

Everything goes to plan. They breach the warehouse. Working with SWAT they deal with any resistance they meet. Within minutes half a dozen of Fedorov's men are either unconscious or bleeding on the floor. Soon, they've made it into the main part of the warehouse.

Danny feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Beside him, Steve's eyes are darting around the warehouse. Beyond him, Junior's scanning the area, his eyebrows drawn together in frown.

It's too easy. Much too easy.

The roof of the warehouse has skylights. Beams of light cut through the shadowed interior. They illuminate stacks of wooden crates. The writing on the side of the crates says 'Pun Ho Noodles'. They're in the right place: it's one of the company names they'd been looking for.

It's still disturbingly quiet though. Running a drugs operation doesn't just need mercenaries to run security. It needs people to cut the drugs, arrange the deliveries and count the money. This place should be swarming with people.

The mercenaries were there for a reason: they were guarding _something_.

Danny grits his teeth as Steve waves them forward. His heart's thudding against his ribcage. Everywhere he looks there's another shadow waiting to jump him.

Suddenly, a shadow does actually move, breaking away from the crates. It materialises into a man: he's tall with dark hair and pale, smooth skin. Even in the half-light it's clear the grey suit he's wearing is expensive, tailored. He smiles at them. His teeth are perfect.

Danny swears silently. It's Anton Fedorov. Nothing in their intel had suggested he would actually be here. This isn't his normal MO. This is wrong. _So _wrong. Frowning, he glances over at Steve who's standing a few feet in front of him.

Steve's worried too. Every muscle in his body is tensed, ready for action. He's using the power of his glare as well as the threat of his gun to keep Anton pinned to the spot. Suddenly, his eyes widen.

Danny looks back, towards Anton. His heart leaps into his throat. Fedorov's taken another step forward. He's standing in a beam of sunlight. In other circumstances he'd look angel-like; the light's gifted him with a halo. The stun grenades he's holding destroy that image.

Danny's already diving for cover when the first grenade goes off. The force of the bang still hits him like a physical blow. Blinded by the flash, he hits the ground hard. Self-preservation drives him to get his knees under him. Love has him straining to see beyond the spots in his eyes: Steve had been closest to the explosion.

Scrabbling to his feet, his shoulder collides with a stack of crates. He leans against them, his balance shot to hell. The loud ringing in his ears is blocking out all other sounds. He grabs the crates as the world wobbles dangerously. Digging his fingers into the wood, he holds on tight.

Using them for support, he peers cautiously around the edge. Crates are burning. They've been caught in the blast. The flames add a nightmarish quality to the crescendo of noise and colours in his head. He's vaguely aware of Lou yelling over the radio: he sounds like he's under water. He experiences a moment of relief when Tani and Junior acknowledge Lou's message. But there's only one clear thought in his head:

Steve's disappeared. So has Fedorov.

Panic claws at the back of his mind. He quashes it – hard. He's still got his gun in his right hand. Ejecting the almost-spent clip he slams in a fresh one. His breaths are short and sharp. Smoke is biting at the back of his throat.

He moves.

Bullets spray the ground in front of him as he breaks cover. Stumbling back, he returns fire. The shots are coming from above him. Through the smoke, he can see men kneeling in the walkways up in the rafters. Lots of men.

_Ambush _his brain screams but he quashes that too. They've got seconds – literally seconds – to turn this shit-fest around. In his ear he can hear Lou redeploying the SWAT teams. They return fire from the other side of the warehouse. The men in the rafters take the bait, their attention pulled away from his position.

Danny takes the opportunity he's been given. Keeping low, he runs for the next set of crates, then the next. The third set of crates reveals Junior hunched behind them. Blood is trickling from a deep cut on his temple. Junior seems oblivious to it: automatic weapon raised, he's picking off Anton's men like it's a day out on the rifle range.

"Steve?" Junior asks, ducking down to swap out a clip.

"No idea," Danny replies. He can taste bile at the back of his throat. "Ammo?"

Junior taps the front of his tac vest. He's got one clip left. "Enough." Crouched, he bobs on his haunches, getting ready to move. "We going in?"

Danny nods. It's not really a question. Steve's out there somewhere. It's taking every bit of self-control to not run out there and blast away anything in his path. He isn't Dirty Harry, he reminds himself, and this isn't the movies. God help anyone who gets in his way though.

_Their way, _Danny corrects, as they head out. Junior isn't taking prisoners either. He's taken point, systematically working his way around the crates, sweeping his gaze and his weapon side-to-side. A couple of the men in the rafters target them. Junior lets off a shot, then another. Their bodies hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Danny coughs. More crates have caught alight. They're running out of time.

Junior seems to sense that too. He takes cover, using the respite to do a 360 degree check of the area. He does a double-take as something catches his eye. "You see that?" he asks as Danny ducks down beside him.

Danny squints. His ears are still ringing from the stun grenade. His balance is slightly off, like he's on a boat in calm water. His eyeballs are straining to see. Gradually he understands what Junior's looking at. There are two stacks of crates that have been pushed over. Beyond them is a door. It's open, just an inch. If the crates had still been there they wouldn't have seen it.

Hope makes his heartbeat quicken.

Tapping Junior on the shoulder, he gets ready to move. As Junior leads the way they exchange fire again but the onslaught of bullets is finally fading. Lou, Tani and the SWAT team have got Fedorov's men pinned down.

Making it to the door, they check their ammunition. When Junior nods, Danny grabs the door handle. Every instinct is yelling at him to get in there, to take the lead. He _needs _to be in there. Steve could be hurt. Or worse.

_No._

He yanks the door open.

Junior steps into the doorway without hesitation. Brow furrowed, lips turned down, his focus is absolute.

For a second Danny's reminded of his early cases with Steve. Back then, his blood pressure went through the roof on a daily basis. These days, he understands Navy SEALs are amongst the best trained special operations troops in the world. It doesn't necessarily make it easier to watch your partner – the man you've secretly loved for so, so long – going into dangerous situations. Navy SEALs aren't invincible. Guns are designed to kill. But in a hand-to-hand combat situation he knows who he'd put his money on.

He grips onto that thought like his life depends on it. Which in a way, it does.

They move into a short, dimly-lit corridor. The door swings closed behind them. The sound of gunfire is muted. Lou and Tani are yelling instructions in his ear piece. They're rounding up Fedorov's men.

Now all they have to do is find Anton Fedorov. And Steve.

The flashlights on their guns cut through the darkness. Wisps of smoke are following them, seeping in under the door. Through the grey murk they can see footprints on the dusty floor. Two pairs of footsteps, close together. As they advance up the corridor, the footsteps merge into one big scuffle of dust.

Junior stops, checking out the area in front of them. His light picks out another door a few feet in front of them. This one is off the latch too.

Danny bites at his bottom lip. Words of frustration are bubbling on the tip of his tongue: _Move, for fucks sake, Junior. Move. _Unable to stop himself he shuffles forwards, crowding into Junior's space.

Junior glances back at him, over his shoulder. He takes a step sideways, blocking his way. He still looks just as determined. But even through the gloom it's impossible to miss the worry and compassion in his eyes.

Like a bolt of lightning it strikes Danny what Junior is doing. He's planning to go in first, in case something has happened to Steve. This is the moment he and Steve have been trying to avoid ever since they told the team and the Governor they were in a relationship. _Nothing will change,_ they'd said, confidently. Now he realises they'd been naïve.

His heart's pumping so fast, it's making his breath catch. His fingers and toes are tingling as blood rushes to his vital organs. His body's getting ready to attack whatever – whoever – is on the other side of that door. This isn't the normal way his body responses to these situations. This is visceral. Anger is getting the upper hand.

Swallowing hard, he takes a deep breath, then another one. Whatever's behind that door he has to be ready to deal with it. He's not just Steve's partner. In this situation, he's Junior's backup too.

He nods.

Junior nods back. Raising his gun, he nudges the door open with his foot. Light floods the corridor. They both blink as their eyes adjust to the sudden change. As one, they slide through the gap, guns raised. They come out into an office. It's got windows. They're back at the edge of the warehouse. Abandoned desks and chairs litter the place.

Steve's sitting in the middle of the chaos, on the floor. His gun is raised, pointed straight at them. Fedorov's sprawled on the ground beside him, bloodied and unconscious.

Steve slumps when he spots them and lowers his gun. Considering he'd only been a few feet away from an exploding stun grenade, he doesn't look too bad, for. Blood's running out of his nose. His left eye is bruised, already starting to close. But he's breathing and he doesn't appear to have any bullet holes in him.

Danny's legs feel like they're going to fold. Relief is making him feel suddenly light-headed. "You bastard. I thought you were…." He slumps forward, resting his hands on his knees. "_Jesus_, babe."

Steve's eyebrows meet together in a frown.

Danny makes his legs work. Relief is quickly being replaced with anger again. "Why the hell didn't you wait for backup?" he asks, striding over. "Huh? Would it have killed you to wait?"

"Danny—"

He waves away Junior's interruption. Steve's staring at him, confusion written across his face. He _hates_ this, when Steve pretends he hasn't done anything wrong. He could have died, for crying out loud and then he would have been alone again and…

"Um…Danny. I don't think he can hear you."

Junior's voice brings him up short. He looks at Steve, really looks. His partner – the man he loves with all his heart – blinks owlishly back at him. He's slightly cross-eyed. Grimacing, he rubs at his ears.

Danny bites back the lecture he's got ready about the perils of standing too close to a stun grenade. If the way his own head is thumping is any indication, Steve's suffering from the headache from hell. How he's even focusing is a miracle. All he can probably see is flashing lights. As if proving his point Steve groans. Curling in on himself, he rests his head in his hands.

Danny kneels down in front of him. Holstering his gun, he pulls Steve to him. Gently, he rests his lips on his hair.

"Idiot," he mouths silently. Now the adrenaline's fading they're both shivering. He pulls Steve in closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He closes his eyes. He's vaguely aware of Junior moving around them, checking in with Lou, making sure Fedorov is secure. But mostly he's concentrating on Steve. He feels so solid in his arms.

It's not long before they're joined by Lou and Tani and what seems like most of the HPD. He pulls away, one hand still resting on the back of Steve's neck. They've talked about this too: no displays of physical affection in the office. But he'll be damned if he'll remove his hand.

The next hour passes in a blur. There are procedures to be followed and the Governor's waiting for them to report in. Danny calls her from the waiting area of the local Emergency Room. Eventually he finishes the call. Exhausted, he heads for the cubicle where Steve is.

Steve's out cold – they've given him just enough painkillers to take the edge off his blinding headache. Danny pulls up a chair beside the bed and falls into it, heavily. The explosion has left its mark on his body too. Wincing, he reaches out for Steve's hand. Entwining their fingers, he sits back in his chair.

This is his life now. Forever, if he has a say in it. After what happened today, he knows he should be scared. Instead, as he watches Steve sleep, his face bruised and battered, he finds himself smiling. They've both made it home tonight in one piece – mostly. In this new future they've created for themselves, he considers that a good day.

Closing his eyes, he prays for many more.

H50H50H50

_**Two weeks later**_

_**80 days**_

Steve's dozing when Eddie starts scratching at the bedroom door. Eddie's a polite scratcher – at first. Just a couple of taps with his paw and then he gives up. The sound of his claws on the wood floor in the hallway fade into the distance. He thuds down the stairs then the house goes quiet again.

Steve burrows under the bedcovers. Blindly, he reaches out for Danny. Finding his target he slings his arm out, pinning him down. Since capturing Anton Fedorov they've had to move fast to smash open his operations across the world. It's Sunday, the first day they've had off for a while. He intends to enjoy it.

Eddie has other ideas. It's not long before he's back again and this time he means business. He's scratching at the door madly.

Steve checks his watch, on the nightstand. Cursing to himself, he throws back the bedcovers. His naked skin goose pimples at the sudden touch of cooler air.

Danny burrows out of the bedcovers beside him. The only parts visible are his hair and eyes. Medusa would be envious of his mussed hair. He blinks, blearily. "Yo' oka'?"

"Eddie," he explains needlessly. Eddie's making enough noise to wake the dead. "Go back to sleep."

"'kay."

He reaches out to Danny, pushing back a strand of hair from his face. Danny hums under his breath but he's already closing his eyes, burrowing back under the sheets.

Grinning, Steve swings his legs off the bed and gets up. He shivers. Danny's a human radiator. Sleeping with him in the Hawaiian heat has taken some getting used to. Danny's threatening to take him to Jersey in the winter, to stop his complaining.

He can't wait.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie's very happy to see him. It's an hour past his normal feeding time. In the kitchen he sits and waits as he's been taught. His body is vibrating with the effort of staying still though. Once he's given the signal he sticks his muzzle in and attacks it with gusto. The metal bowl scrapes across the tiled floor as Eddie chases the biscuits inside.

Shaking his head, Steve goes to the fridge and pours a glass of juice. Sipping at it he retrieves his meds from the cupboard by the door. He's so used to taking them now he could do it in his sleep. He doesn't though, skim reading the labels before opening each one and tipping out the correct number of tablets. At his last six-month check-up the doctor had been pleased with how his body had adjusted to the post-transplant drug regime. An accidental overdose – even a small one – would destroy all his hard work to keep fit.

That's one more part of his routine he never skips. Inside the door he's pinned a calendar. He crosses out each day after he's taken his meds. Originally it had been a way to adapt to his new lifestyle with a regular regime of medication. Now each tick is a daily celebration of the life he was given a second-chance to live.

Running his eyes down the dates, he's smiles widely. It's been eighty days since he and Danny finally got together. In a few weeks they'll hit 100 days. He files the information away, thoughtfully. He doesn't consider himself a romantic. But 100 days feels like something Danny would appreciate celebrating.

Meds taken, he puts the dirty glass in the sink then wanders back into the living room. He tidies as he walks, picking up a toy car Charlie's left behind, throwing Eddie's chew toys into his basket. Grace has left some school books on his desk. They're stacked messily. He hovers for a moment, itching to line them up. Taking a breath, he moves on. Danny keeps gently reminding him he'll have to accept some mess otherwise he'll spend all his time tidying up. The sailor in him recoils at that idea.

He's in the process of tidying up the DVDs – it's Moana, Charlie will be heartbroken if the DVD gets damaged – when Eddie trots past him. He's wearing the dog equivalent of a happy, satiated smile. He sits next to the doors to the lanai.

Steve takes the hint. Pausing to switch off the house alarm, he opens the door and lets him out. A gust of cool, early morning air makes his shiver again. He shuts the door again, leaving Eddie outside. He'll be fine out there for a while.

Heading to the stairs, he pauses for a moment. He looks around at his house. Everywhere he looks there are bright patches of colour: Grace and Charlie's things standing out against the worn interior of his house. Back in the kitchen – Danny's domain – there are pictures on the fridge of the five of them together. It turns out Eddie loves to have his picture taken, particularly if Grace or Charlie are sitting with him.

The sailor in him might be twitching at the chaos, particularly at weekends when Charlie and Grace are visiting. But the warmth he feels in his heart as he looks around more than makes up for it.

He takes the stairs two at a time. Sliding back under the bed covers, he sighs happily at the sudden warmth.

Danny is still barely visible. "Feet are cold," he mutters.

Steve rubs his feet up Danny's leg to warm them up. "Better?"

"B'stard." Danny shuffles over anyway, throwing an arm over Steve's chest. He stills. Then his head pops out from under the bedcover. He opens one eye. "No' runnin'?"

Steve forces himself not to laugh. He's pretty sure Danny's talking in his sleep. "Not running," he whispers, settling into Danny's embrace. "Not this morning."

Danny closes his eye again. "'Kay."

"'Kay," Steve agrees, closing his own eyes.

"'Ove you," Danny mumbles into his human pillow.

"Love you too, sweetheart," Steve breathes.

He can go running later. Or maybe he'll go for a swim. The urgent itching need to be moving is just a glowing ember deep in his chest. He can stoke it into a raging inferno if he wants to, run and swim for miles until he's exhausted. But right now, all he wants is to be with Danny.

Pulling Danny closer, he lets himself have that.

H50H50H50H50

When he wakes up again, he's alone. The Danny-sized dip in the mattress is still warm.

Hooking his fingers around the bedstead, he stretches. His joints pop. He wiggles his toes. A yawn creeps up on him. He tries to swallow it but it beats him to the chase. His jaw clicks as he lets the yawn loose. Shutting his mouth again, he curls back under the covers.

He debates going back to sleep. Danny's been trying to teach him sleep isn't just a function to enable you to recharge. It's a luxury that – on the few occasions it's available - should be indulged. He eyes the empty space beside him. Indulging is a lot more fun when Danny's there.

He sighs. Plumping up his pillows, he tries to get comfortable again. He's pretty sure Danny's in the kitchen. Sunday morning breakfast in bed is a ritual they've adopted. Finding crumbs in the bedcovers still makes him twitch. The post-breakfast sex more than makes up for it.

Humming in anticipation, he stretches again. They're still both learning what they like to do in the bedroom. Danny likes to be in control and he has no problem with that. No problem at all. He's got a few ideas he wants to try out, that let Danny enjoy that side of himself. They've got a whole day with no interruptions to practice.

It's going to be a _good_ day.

His eyes drift closed as his imagination takes over. In his mind's eye he maps out Danny's skin with his fingertips. He's memorised the curve of Danny's muscles, the way his abs twitch when he's tickled. He can feel Danny flexing his thigh muscles when he grabs onto them, as he urges him on to move harder, faster, just _move_. He imagines the scent of musk and sweat filling the air. Neither of them are quiet during sex; he overlays the images with the sounds he knows they'll make. Anticipation makes his cock twitch. Dry-mouthed, he licks his lips.

The high-pitched shrill of the kitchen smoke alarm cuts cruelly into his fantasy.

Opening his eyes, he groans. He sniffs. It smells like something's alight. The alarm's temperamental. He's been meaning to change it for a while. Danny's probably threatening it with a spatula right now. Grimacing, he gets out of bed.

Padding across the landing he tilts his head, listening for Danny's voice. He frowns at the lack of irate yelling. Two rungs down on the stairs he catches sounds of movement in the kitchen. It's muted, like the door is shut. That's weird because Danny loves to share when he's cooking. He loves interruptions if only so he can grumble and shoo people away.

Eddie starts barking, just as he gets to the bottom of the stairs. He's still shut outside. It's high-pitched, frantic. It sends a shiver down his spine.

He freezes, one foot still on the bottom step. Thoughts spin in his mind. Eddie might just be upset by the smoke alarm but his own senses are screaming that something's wrong. His eye is drawn to the control panel of the house alarm. The red light that indicates it's not activated winks back at him.

His heartbeat quickens.

He's naked and his spare weapons are in the bedroom, kitchen and basement. He'd removed the one in the table by the front door when Charlie had started getting up early to investigate the house on his own. For a second it crosses his mind to let Eddie in. The dog's frantic now, howling to be let in. An angry canine is an excellent weapon. An out of control one though is a hinderance, destroying the element of surprise.

A loud bang in the kitchen grabs back his attention. It sounds like saucepans hitting the floor.

Years of training kick in. As he hunkers down next to the closed kitchen door he's mapping out the room in his head, straining to hear any noise that might give him an advantage. The sounds of movement are getting louder. There's a crash as a plate hits the floor. He's reaching for the door handle - keeping down and out of the line of fire – when he hears a grunt of pain, then another much louder one.

It sounds like Danny.

He kicks the door in then swings back, taking cover. The expected hail of bullets but doesn't happen. But his quick glimpse into the kitchen has provided him with a nightmare image. There are two men, dressed in tee-shirts, jeans and black balaclavas standing over Danny. Danny's face down on the floor. One arm is twisted awkwardly behind him. There's blood on the floor, spreading in a pool next to his head.

On the far side of the kitchen acrid black smoke is rising from the cooker. Danny's favourite pancake pan is alight.

Steve dives into the kitchen. Danny's laid out plates, knives and forks for breakfast on the central table. He's almost got his hand on a knife when the first man intercepts him. Suddenly the world tilts as an arm is clamped across his throat.

He slips out of the grip easily. But he quickly realises these men aren't amateurs. For every blow he inflicts they repay him with one of their own. His flesh is soon stinging with nicks from a knife. He tastes blood as a fist connects with his jaw.

Determined to reach Danny – and the gun that's hidden in a drawer - he powers forward, delivering a punishing rhythm of blows. The kitchen's compact but there's still enough room for one of them to try and get behind him. For a heart-stopping moment he thinks they might get the upper hand. When one of them slips and loses his footing – there's pancake mix over the floor – Steve strikes. Hauling his attacker in he jerks the man's head sideways, breaking his neck.

Breathing heavily, he risks a glance at Danny. Panic makes his stomach roil. The pool of blood is getting bigger. He needs to finish this, _now_.

Furious, he lays into the other man. Flesh splits under his fists. He wants this bastard out of his home. He wants him _away_ from Danny. He pummels him relentlessly, employing every technique he knows. The guy's good but Steve's got white-hot anger on his side. Gradually he starts wearing him down.

Steve's got him on the retreat, nearly to the garage door, when he senses a movement behind him. His break in concentration earns him a blow to the chin. As his head snaps round he realises they are two more men coming into the kitchen. Before he can react they're on him.

Three on one are tough odds when his attackers are so good. Diving sideways he grabs a knife from the counter. Spinning round, he uses both hands to dig it deep in his first attacker's chest. The man's eyes widen in surprise as he staggers back, his fingers curled around the handle. As he bumps back into the wall, sliding to the floor, Steve turns to face the other men.

He's too late.

He doesn't go quietly, using every last ounce of energy to try and fight them off. But it's not long before he finds himself face down on the floor, the wooden boards digging into his naked skin. His attackers bundle on top of him, using their combined body weight to keep him down.

Barely able to breathe, he starts choking. The smoke in the air catches in his lungs. His head is full of the sound of the smoke alarm shrilling. In the background he can still hear Eddie barking. He jerks as something sharp pricks the skin on the back of his neck.

Whatever they've injected him with is fast-acting. His vision is rapidly decreasing to a pinprick. He can't feel his hands or feet. Straining, he lifts his head up, trying to find Danny.

When he does, a sob escapes from his throat. Danny's still not moving. His chest is still. Too still.

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

H50H50H50

All Danny can hear is ringing alarm bells. It feels like someone's trying to crush his skull. They start off sounding like the smoke detector in the kitchen. The sound fades, only to be replaced by the sound of an ambulance siren. Blessedly, that fades too.

Respite is short-lived though. Bright lights burn through his lowered eyelids. They feel like they're drilling through to his brain. Unseen hands jostle him. Suddenly, he discovers a new pain. It's much worse.

He passes out.

When he wakes up again, he smells the familiar scents of a hospital. His mind feels disconnected from his body. His limbs don't feel like they belong to him at all. Pain medication, he registers vaguely. But it still feels like someone's attacking the inside of his skull with a pickaxe. Shifting his head only makes the problem worse. Gritting his teeth he moves anyway.

Whoa.

"No…no don't do that. Stay still for me, Danny. Just stay still."

He's just a breath away from vomiting, violently. The world is spinning, not just round and round, but up and down. His headache ramps up, off the scale.

His stomach wins the argument.

He loses track of time. Eventually the stomach spasms dull to an ache and he can breathe again. His mouth tastes of bile. He can smell it in his nose. When someone wipes his face with a cold towel he sighs gratefully. A glass of water and a straw follow. He's takes a sip then collapses on the pillow, exhausted.

Somebody's still standing by his bed. Squinting, he tries focus. He smiles weakly: Lou's impossible to mistake, even with blurred vision. He forces his tongue to work. "Thanks."

Lou smiles. He looks more relieved than happy. "Good to see you awake."

Danny's not sure he agrees with him. Sleep would be good about now. "How bad is it?"

"Doc will be back in a minute." Lou offers the water again.

Danny takes another sip. Even in its confused state, his brain can tell from Lou's tone something's very wrong. His stomach roils dangerously again. "Just tell me."

Lou sighs. Reluctantly he puts the water down. "You've got a severe concussion and a broken arm," he explains, pulling up a chair and sitting down. He hunkers forward, resting his forearms on the bed. Suddenly, he looks very serious. "Can you remember what happened?"

Danny closes his eyes. Slowly he works through what Lou's said. The injuries explain why he feels so shit. They also explain why he can't feel his right arm. What they don't explain is Lou's tone of voice. It's the voice his friend uses when he's talking to victims. Panic flares in his chest as his brain registers something else.

There's somebody missing.

"Is Steve okay?" He shifts and the world shifts with him. Clawing at the sheets with his good hand, he wills himself not to throw up. He's got a fragmented memory of something burning. There were sirens. They'd been in a fight. An image flicks on in his head. "That flashbang got him good."

"The flashbang?" Lou frowns. His voice drops. "Is that the last thing you can remember?"

Danny goes to nod, than stops. He can taste bile again. "We were in the ER. Steve was asleep and…" Panic claws its way to his throat, robbing of him words. He can't remember what happens next. "Lou…"

"It's okay, Danny. It's okay. Take it easy—"

"What day is it?"

"Don't worry. You need to re—"

"Lou."

"The Doc'll be here in a minute—"

Danny blocks him out. Steve's not here and Lou's using _that _tone of voice. Tugging at the sheets, he tries to fling them back. As the world starts spinning again he's vaguely aware of Lou's hands on his shoulders, holding him still. He tries to shrug him off. It's a pathetic effort. He feels like he's been mowed down by a truck. Twice.

"It's Sunday, okay. It's _Sunday_."

Lou's voice cuts through the noise in his head. He stills. The operation at the warehouse had been on a Thursday. He's lost three days.

"The operation to capture Anton Fedorov, it was two weeks ago."

For a second his brain blanks out at the news: it can't compute. His skull feels like it's about to explode. Then a thought tickles at the back of his mind, cutting through the noise. Sunday morning. Steve said he wasn't going for a run. They always have breakfast in bed on a Sunday.

"I was making pancakes." He's not sure where the words or thought has come from. But he knows he's said the right thing when Lou lets go of his shoulders and drops heavily back into his chair.

Lou exhales slowly. "You were, buddy. You were. Can you remember what happened?"

He closes his eyes. Images assail him. Steve had been deeply asleep, snoring softly. He'd kissed him before slipping out of bed. Grabbing a tee and boxers from the clean laundry pile by the bed, he'd gone downstairs. Eddie was down by the beach, barking at the waves. He'd started making the pancakes. He'd been debating whether to add choc chips or blueberries: Steve's a secret lover of choc chip but always asks for blueberries because they're healthy. He'd just turned to the cupboard to get the choc chips when he'd heard a noise in the garage and….

His eyes shoot open. He grabs Lou's arm. "Where's Steve?"

"Danny—"

"There were men in the house. They _attacked_ me. He was _asleep_, Lou. I left him upstairs—"

"I know." Lou winces. He places a hand over Danny's. "I need you to lay back down for me," he says, softly, so soft it's almost a whisper. "Then I'll tell you what we think happened. Okay?"

Looking down, Danny realises what Lou's talking about. He's sitting half-upright, leaning on his good arm. His broken arm's propped on pillow, a dead-weight. He doesn't care though as he lets Lou guide him back down again. Dread is settling over him, making him feel cold inside. Steve's not here and that can only mean one thing:

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"_No_."

Lou's heartfelt response to his question makes the world waver again. For a second there, he'd really thought… He quashes the thought before he can finish it. It's too awful to contemplate. But as his brain catches up he realises Lou still hasn't really answered his original question. Licking his lips, he forces himself to ask again: "Where is he, Lou?"

Lou rests his head in his hands for a moment. When he looks up, his eyes are heavy with worry. "Your neighbour called HPD. They could hear the smoke alarms and Eddie barking. HPD called it in to me." He looks away, takes a shaky breath. "When we got there….we got there and you were out cold, bleeding over the kitchen floor. There were two guys in there with you. One was dead. Broken neck. The other had a knife in his chest. He's just come out of surgery."

Danny licks his lips. The injuries on the men are familiar. "Steve."

"Yeah. Junior called it straight off."

"And Steve?"

Lou rests a hand on his shoulder again. It does nothing to reassure him. "Forensics are going over your house now. It looks like there were at least four men in there. One of your neighbours reported seeing a van drive off not long after the alarm started." He pauses, swallowing hard. "There's no sign of Steve."

Danny closes his eyes again. His rests his hand on his chest, trying to ease sudden stabbing pain in his heart. "They took him."

"It looks like it."

"In broad daylight. Someone's gotta have seen something."

Lou shrugs. "HPD are on it. Junior and Tani are back at the Palace, with Jerry, trying to figure out who's got the muscle to do something like this. The Governor's asked for updates every hour. She's pissed, man. Whatever we need, she's gonna get it for us."

Reluctantly he opens his eyes. Part of him wishes he could just pass out, that what he's experiencing right now is just a nightmare conjured up by his injured brain. A glance a Lou's face kills that hope dead. The anguish on his friend's face is beyond anything he could imagine. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab his hand.

"He'll be okay," he says, forcing the words out. They sound hollow in his ears. Deep inside, he can feel he's starting to unravel. When Lou squeezes his hand in reassurance, he holds on like his life depends on it. "The stabbed guy. When can we talk to him?"

Lou grins at him. There's no warmth in the gesture. "A couple of hours. Junior and Tani are on it. They're going in as soon as the Doc gives the green light."

"I'm gonna be there."

Lou's smile slips. He tightens his grip. "Uh, uh, uh. You're gonna be in this bed for at least another twenty-four hours. That's one hell of a blow you took to the head—"

Danny shakes his head, ignores the accompanying nausea. He can't stay here. It's not an option. "They've got _him_, Lou. I need him ba—"

"I get it okay? I know you're hurting. If that was Renee out there…" Lou trails off, wiping his hand over his eyes. "God, I _know_. But I gotta keep you safe. When Steve comes back – and he will come back – he needs you here, in one piece. You understand me? That's _my_ job right now."

Danny blinks. His eyes are prickling with emotion. He hates painkilling drugs. "_Lou._"

"I got you, okay. I got you. All of us have. You're not on your own." Lou moves closer. His expression turns grim. "We're gonna find these son of a bitches, Danny. We'll get Steve back for you. And then we're gonna show they can't mess with our Ohana."

H50H50H50H05

The first thing Steve is aware of is the smell of motor oil. It's a familiar scent, one he's known since he was a child. For a moment he thinks he's back home in his garage. The second thing he's aware of he's naked. Something rough is rubbing against his skin. Alarms bells start ringing in his head. He shifts. His movement is being restricted. The alarm bells grow louder. Adrenaline kicks in, jerking him awake.

He groans as full awareness hits him. Everything hurts.

He opens his eyes slowly. His eyelids feel crusty, his eyelashes sticking together. His vision is blurred but it doesn't matter: wherever he is, it's dark.

He reaches out, mentally and physically, trying to understand his surroundings. His hands and feet are tied. He's wrapped in something, from his shoulders to his ankles. He feels like he's trapped in a tube.

Nothing makes sense. He sorts through his memories. Pancakes. Barking. Burning.

_Danny. Not moving._

Training keeps him from shouting out his fear. He listens hard. All he can hear is the panicked beat of his heart. There's no one else nearby.

No Danny.

He has no time to process that thought, no chance to quash his rising sense of despair. A light comes on behind him. He's flinches as his pupils react. Craning his head backwards, he gets ready to fight.

He's already too late. Hands are reaching for him out of the darkness. Fingers clamp painfully around his jaw. His head is wrenched back. Light glints off a needle and syringe. The punch of pain as it pierces his skin is still a surprise.

Darkness claims him again.

H50H50H50

Danny sighs with relief as the last nurse leaves. They've been prodding and poking him for hours. The only benefit is that they're upped his pain relief. Everything's gone fuzzy around the edges, making it difficult to think. But at least the pickaxes inside his skull have ceased.

The peace only lasts for a few moments. This time when the door opens it reveals a welcome sight: Lou's back and he's bought Tani and Junior with him.

Danny pushes himself upright. His broken arm reminds him it's still attached. "What did he say?" he gasps, taking in a drag of air. "Does he know where they've taken Steve?"

His three friends share a look and his heart sinks. He's not going to like their news.

"Docs don't think he's gonna be awake for a couple more hours," Tani explains as Junior pulls up chairs for them all. "Even when he is they're not sure how much he's gonna be able to tell us straight away. He's going to be disorientated and—"

"It's been _six_ hours." Danny sucks in another breath: he makes a mental note not to wave his arms. "They could have Steve anywhere by now. We've got to get that guy talking—"

"We will, okay? We will." Lou's taken the seat right next to him. He's taking his minding duties seriously. "HPD have got every available officer out there looking for him."

"Jerry's following up on the truck," Tani adds, pulling her chair up on the other side of the bed. She looks tired. She's not wearing any makeup. She looks like she got out bed in a hurry. "He managed to track it six blocks on the street cameras." Her face clouds with disappointment. "Then it disappeared into a blind spot. He's looking into some….um…other methods to find out where it's gone."

Danny slumps into his pillows. The knot of panic that's been growing in his chest since he woke up is squeezing into his lungs. "We got nothin'."

Junior places his chair at the end of the bed. Turning it round, he swings his leg over it and sits down. Arms resting on the back, he regards Danny. "HPD have got some questions," he starts apologetically. "I know you're not feeling too good but can I…you know…"

Danny takes pity on him, raising his hand. Not waiting for any questions, he explains what he can remember about that morning. It's difficult, everything's disjointed, like a puzzle where the pieces don't fit. That's a blessing though. He knows if he thinks about it too much he's not sure he'll be able to hold it together. It might have been the last time he'd ever seen Steve and he hadn't even bothered to tell him he loved him and…

"Hey. Hey." Lou's leaning in front of him, blocking his view of the room. He hasn't said the words out loud but Lou's read him like an open book. "Don't do that to yourself. _Don't_."

Lou's gentle tone almost undoes him. He closes his eyes, tries to collect himself. Silence falls over the room. When he opens his eyes, three pairs of eyes are watching him. They're full of sympathy and understanding. There's a hint of anger there too.

He smiles weakly at them. They're his family. They're worried enough as it is. "You got any more questions for me?"

They exchange a glance. Tani clears her throat nervously. "HPD want to know what Steve was wearing when you last saw him. They've put out an APB but they figured the more detail they have—"

"That won't help." Danny sighs at the confusion on their faces. "He probably wasn't wearing anything." He pushes back the memory of Steve's body wrapped around his that morning. "I run hot. He runs cold. It drives him nuts."

"Sorry."

Tani's cheeks have coloured with embarrassment. He reaches out, wiggling his fingers, asking for her hand. As she places her hand in his he tugs gently. "Ask me whatever questions you want. That's what Steve would expect us to do. You understand?"

"It's personal…you shouldn't have to—"

He tries for another smile. "It's fine." It's not and they all know it. He can see it on their faces. If Steve were here he'd get them all back on track. Now that's his job. "Anyone heard from Forensics?"

Junior answers by pulling his phone and handing it over. He points at the picture on the screen. "Looking at the dust prints on the floor, they think there's a rug missing. You know that huge beige one, in the office? They asked me but I wasn't sure if you'd moved it? I know you've been talking about new furniture and stuff." He trails off, his expression uncertain.

Danny stares at the picture, unseeing. Furniture. Yeah, they'd been talking about buying some new stuff. Together. He gives the phone back, not bothering to check it. "We hadn't changed anything yet."

"So what's the significance of the rug?" Tani's taken the phone off Junior. She staring at it, willing it to give her answers.

"Maybe…" Lou pauses as everyone looks at him. "Maybe they needed a way to get Steve out of the house."

Tani hisses, a shocked intake of breath. It mirrors Danny's thoughts perfectly. That's not a visual he needed. Vaguely he'd acknowledged that Steve must have been unconscious for someone to take him. Now that he's got details his brain is using them to paint lurid pictures of Steve, naked and vulnerable in the hands of god knows who. He raises his good hand to his face. He covers his eyes. Suddenly the men in his skull are back from lunch. They're swinging their pickaxes harder than ever.

"Okay, we're done."

"No." He glares at Lou. It's a move he instantly regrets. Gritting his teeth, he works through the questions that are slowly forming in his head. It's like walking though quicksand and takes as much effort. "Steve's got spare weapons in the house. Anyone check if they're still there? He might have got away, be injured somewhere and—"

"They're still there."

"_All _of them?"

"Yup."

"You sure?" He knows it's a stupid question. Junior's stayed in the house. Steve showed him where all the weapons were, including the stash in the basement. But it doesn't make sense. Steve's a lethal weapon. Cornered in his own home and with Danny injured he would have become a killing machine. How the hell had they got to him?

The sound of Junior's phone buzzing breaks into his thoughts. They all wait. A shadow passes over Junior's face as he reads the message. "Forensics think they were at least two other people in the house. Someone came through the front door. The house alarm wasn't triggered."

"Steve let Eddie out." Danny pauses, giving his mind time to catch up. "Maybe he didn't switch it back on…It was Sunday morning, you know? He probably didn't think…"

Junior nods but he's still reading. He stops. Anger flashes in his eyes.

"What you got?"

It's Lou who's spoken and Danny's glad. His mouth has suddenly gone dry.

"They found a syringe under one of the cabinets. They're checking it out but they found Steve's meds in the cupboard. They want to know if he injects any medication."

Danny knows Junior's not asking him a question about the meds. He already knows the answer to that. And his brain's already come up with another question, one it wants an answer to urgently. "Did Steve take his meds this morning? Ask them. There's a calendar inside the cupboard door. He ticks them…"

He trails off. Junior's already getting to his feet, the phone to his ear. As he disappears out the door he's already asking questions.

Lou watches him go. He turns back, leaning forward to get Danny's attention. "His meds. How long can he go without them?"

"The anti-rejection meds, he can go without those for a week or so." The question's an easy one to answer: he attends Steve's medical appointments for a reason. "If he's injured though, if he gets an infection and it goes untreated—"

"—then we've got a problem." Lou's reaching out again, settling him down. "I'll get that added to the case file so any first responders can access it."

_The case file. _Anger flares. It cuts through the fuzzy feeling in his head, bringing clarity. "The syringe isn't ours. They must have dropped it…" Another image slices through his thoughts. It's so sharp it makes him gasp. A torture chamber. Wo Fat.

He blinks the image away. Tani's watching him, concerned but confused. Lou though…Lou knows exactly what's thinking. Shoulders hunched, lips clamped together, he looks like an angry bear that's been dragged out of hibernation.

Before they can say anything, Junior's back, his phone still in his hand. He halts on the threshold, his gaze travelling over them in turn. It's no wonder. The air is buzzing with anger.

Junior takes his seat again. "Forensics are checking the syringe. They also checked out the calendar," he adds quietly, catching Danny's gaze and holding it. "Steve took his meds."

A wave of relief hits him. At this point, Steve missing his meds that morning is the least of their problems – or Steve's. But it reassures him..

Junior's still scrolling through the notes on his phone. "Jerry called. The two guys they found in your house. They're mercenaries. Ex-special forces. He's trying to figure out who they were working for."

Lou shuffles in his seat. "Bastards."

Danny grunts in agreement. Four against one. Whoever sent these guys, they weren't taking any chances.

_He's lucky to be alive._

The thought hits him out of the blue. His headache flares, pain lancing right between his eyes. His stomach cramps. He flushes hot and then cold. 'I'll get someone,' he hears Tani say as everything goes grey around the edges. He's vaguely aware of Lou gripping his good hand. He tries to squeeze back.

He doesn't protest when a nurse appears to administer more pain meds and something for the nausea. Mouth pinched, he stares at the ceiling as he waits for the medication to take effect.

He doesn't feel lucky right now. And it's not just the injuries. He retrieves his last memory of Steve and grabs onto it. As the medication takes over he imagines he's still in bed with Steve. In his head he can hear Steve breathing, he imagines the beat of his heart as he rests against his chest.

Gradually, the medication and sleep claim him.

H50H50H50H50

"This is kinda messed up, man."

"Just shut up and do it."

"He's naked."

"Get the clothes on him—"

"I didn't agree to dressing no naked men—"

"And that's my fault because?"

"You said he'd be out running."

"He was supposed to be. The guy in HPD said he was a keep fit nut. Saturday and Sunday mornings, he runs then he swims."

"So what the hell happened?"

"How the hell do I know? The Boss said we had to take him, so we took him. Stop whinging. The Boss ain't gonna be happy if we screw this up."

"You're getting soft, Casey. Back in the day—"

"Me? You're the one with a black eye—"

"He got in a lucky punch."

"Lucky my ass. You didn't duck."

"Jesus, he's heavy."

"Anything else you want complain about?"

"How much time you got?"

"None. Roll him over. Need to get the sleeves on."

"This is a stupid idea. I thought we were going to put him in a crate and put it in the van."

"What, the van Marcus and Joey had the keys for? Slight problem there, buddy. Joey is dead. Marcus looked like an extra in a vampire movie."

"I thought you were friends."

"Stop yakking. Roll him back this way. "

"We could have got the keys."

"That damn dog and the alarms were gonna draw attention. I improvised."

"Shit. They're gonna find the van—"

"We'll be long gone by then."

"What about our guys?"

"They're dead. They won't be talking to anyone."

"HPD will still be able to figure it out—"

"Shut the fuck up. You took the money. Do the job. Or do you want to end up the same way as them?"

"This is screwed up, man. As soon as we've delivered McGarrett I'm gonna… Shit. He blinked."

"Good."

"_Good?"_

"We need him upright. Can't do that if he's out cold. I've reduced the sedative."

"Are you nuts? He's gonna kill us-"

"No he won't. Our guy in HPD called: he's part of the protection detail for Detective Williams. He's in Kings Medical. No check-in call from us and Williams is history."

"You really think that's gonna work? He can't hear us."

"You think? Look at his eyes, Casey. Look."

"Shit."

"You heard us just fine, didn't you McGarrett? You're gonna do what we tell you or your boyfriend dies…"

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

H50H50H50H50

Danny stares at the closed door of his room, willing it to open. He's been asleep for three hours. He hadn't gone willingly: his injured body had made the decision for him. He's awake now though, anger and fear thrusting him back to full consciousness.

_Steve._

It's eleven hours since someone took him. He needs to know what's happening. They should have questioned the injured man by now. They should have answers. Someone should be doing _something._

He's about to call for a nurse to find a pone when the door opens. When Lou reappears he sags back into his pillows, relieved.

"Where the hell have you been—"

Lou raises a finger in warning. "The Doc said you can get up for half an hour." He lifts up a holdall he's carrying in his other hand. "I bought you some clothes."

"Have you spoken to him? The guy who attacked us. Did he say where—"

Lou raises his hand again. His eyes flick backwards, towards the still open door.

Danny follows his gaze. There are police officers standing out in the corridor, on either side of the door. That's not unusual in a case like this. "What's wrong—"

Lou's tiny nod stops him dead. He frowns as Lou puts the holdall on the bed, pulling out a stack of clothes. Whatever's happening, he needs to take Lou's lead.

Unzipping the holdall, he pulls out a pile of clothes. On the top of the pile is a set of grey sweatshirt and pants. They're well-worn and faded. His heart flips. Gripping them tightly, he meets Lou's gaze. "They're Steve's."

"Oh." Lou's expression morphs from wary to sheepish in a second. Taking the sweat top, he holds it up. "Whoops."

Danny lets out a weak chuckle. The right arm of the top has been chopped off at the shoulder. He appreciates the thought: it'll be easier to get over his broken arm. Steve, he suspects, will appreciate it too. "You had to give him another chance to show off the ink, didn't you?"

Lou snorts. "Right. Like you don't like looking at it…" He trails off. An awkward silence falls between them.

Danny rouses himself before the fog of depression that's hovering over him can take control again. Every muscle in his body groans as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The world tilts, he grabs the edge of mattress to steady himself. Carefully he gets to his feet.

It's not the first time he's got out of bed. The previous time the nurses had been there to help him. He hopes he doesn't lose the contents of his stomach again.

Shuffling carefully, he heads for the bathroom. He doesn't complain when Lou falls in behind, the clothes tucked under one hand, the other reaching out to grab him if he falls.

He lowers onto the closed toilet seat, cradling his broken arm protectively against his chest. It's not the first time he's had a broken arm. But it's still an adjustment, trying to move with it strapped in a sling across his chest.

"Want some help?"

Blinking, he looks up. Lou's crouched in front of him, filling his vision. He leans forward to let Lou untie the hospital gown he's wearing.

A short while later he's dressed, mostly. Lou's rolling up the legs of the pants to make them shorter. Danny smiles at the look of absolute concentration on his friend's face. It should be embarrassing that he can't even dress himself – and maybe it is, just a little – but the care Lou is taking negates that. _Ohana_, a voice in his head reminds him. It's sounds suspiciously like Steve.

"Let's get this show on the road," Lou announces, getting to his feet. The note of false enthusiasm in his voice matches the worry on his face.

Danny pushes to his feet. "Lead on."

Shuffling back into his room isn't fun either. So he's quietly relieved when he notices something he'd missed before: there's a wheelchair folder by the door. When Lou unfolds it, he gets into it without argument. He ignores Lou's look of surprise. There's only one thing he wants to talk about now – how they get Steve back. Anything else is wasting time.

Lou seems to sense the urgency. Taking the brakes off, he turns him towards the door. "One more thing," he adds, reaching for the door handle. "If anyone asks, we're going for coffee."

"What the…" The words die on his lips as the door swings open. HPD officers are posted all the way along the corridor. "Lou—"

"I'll explain," Lou cuts in, his voice low. "Not here."

The hospital corridors pass at dizzying speed. Almost too fast. Travelling in the elevator almost proves too much for his vertigo-addled brain. By the time the doors open he has a white-knuckled grip on the arm rest. Closing his eyes, he wills everything to stop spinning. When he opens them again, it takes him a moment to realise they're parked in a visitor waiting area.

"Take a minute," Lou instructs, crouching down to catch his gaze.

"I'm fine—"

"Uh, uh, uh. That shade of green does not look good on you."

Lou disappears from his line of sight as he takes a deep breath, then another. By the time Lou reappears with water the nausea is starting to abate. He takes the water and sips it. He sighs with relief when it doesn't come back up.

Lou peers down at him. Whatever he sees must meet with his approval because he unlocks the wheels and starts pushing again. It's not long before they reach their destination – the room where the man who attacked them is being cared for. Spotting it isn't difficult: this one has SWAT officers posted outside.

Lou speeds up before he can say anything. Taking the hint, Danny keeps his eyes front. As they roll into the hospital room and the door swings closed behind them, it's on the tip of his tongue to ask why there are SWAT officers outside instead of regular HPD. The question goes out of his head as he registers the scene in front of him.

The hospital bed is empty. There's no sign of the man that attacked him – who attacked Steve. The only occupants are Tani and Junior, sitting perched on the edge of the bed.

"Let us explain," Lou pre-empts him as he parks the wheelchair next to the bed. "There's a reason for this."

Danny forces himself not to react. Every iota of his being had been focused on questioning the man, on getting _answers_. It feels like that opportunity has been snatched away from him - along with any chance of finding Steve.

Lou squeezes his shoulder. "I know, okay? But we had to do it this way."

"Where is he?" he asks, staring at the empty bed. He doesn't miss the way Junior and Tani flinch at the anger in his voice. He knows he should care but he doesn't.

Lou pulls up a chair beside him. "He's up on the fourth floor. Anyone looking at the hospital records will think he's in here."

"You think someone's going to try and get to him?" Danny rubs his hand over his face. He winces as he touches a bruise. "That's why you've got SWAT officers outside." He licks his lips. He wishes Lou could magic up another glass of water. "So. Did you speak to him? Did he tell you where Steve is?"

His heart fills with trepidation as Tani and Junior share a look. There's no sense of urgency. They're not rushing out to rescue Steve. He already knows that all they've got is more damn questions. The panic and fear that's been lurking in his chest slowly creeps out of its hiding place.

"We didn't get long to talk to him," Tani explains, regretfully. "I don't think he's the chatty type, even without being pumped full of drugs. But we did get a chance to run a few names and photos past him."

"Jerry couldn't find out who these guys are working for now," Junior adds, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the screens, "but he got us the names of the people these guys have worked for in the past. Our guy here didn't react to any of them apart from this one."

Danny takes the phone, studies the picture. "When you say he reacted…?"

"Fear." Tani waves her hand across her face. "He was trying to hide it but you could see it. He was scared."

Danny chews at his bottom lip and studies the picture again. Guys like this don't show fear to anyone. "So who is he?"

"Mick Appleton. British. Ex-SAS. Dishonourably discharged. He works as a fixer for organised crime mobs. If there's something they don't want to be blamed for, he steps in."

Danny hands the phone back. "For a price."

"Yup." Junior swipes through the screens again. "Millions of dollars, according to Jerry."

"So what's that got to do with Steve?" Impatience is making his voice loud. He looks away, tells himself to breathe.

Tani gets up and starts pacing. "Jerry's been talking to the FBI and Interpol. They're playing their cards close to their chest. But using whatever mystery geek friends he's got Jerry's managed to map out Appleton's movements over the last six months." She straightens up. "They look kinda familiar."

Danny's heart sinks. "Who?"

Lou leans forward in his chair. "Anton Fedorov."

Danny holds on tight to the arm rest as the world spins again. "I'm gonna kill him. If he's hurt Steve I swear—"

"Easy." Lou reaches out to steady him again. "Easy."

"How the _hell_…" He takes a shaky breath, tries again. "Isn't he in Halawa maximum security?"

"He's due to be shipped to the mainland next week." Junior's reading from his phone again. "I reached out to Ellie. She's the Public Prosecutor on this case. She visited him in Halawa three days ago. Only she and his lawyer have visited him since his arrest."

Danny shakes his head. He holds his breath as he realises his mistake. "So how is he connected to this guy Appleton?" he asks through gritted teeth. He doesn't believe in co-incidences.

"We don't know that either." Junior's face falls, his frustration clear. "Jerry's still checking. The Governor's reaching out to her contacts."

"The Governor? Why don't we get HPD to help? They've got contacts—"

"We can't, Danny." Lou's leaning forward again, sympathy written across his face. "That's the other reason we're in here. The Fedorov case. We were worried there was a leak inside the Department, remember?"

Danny opens his mouth to protest. Just as quickly he closes it again. Internal Affairs had started an enquiry but it was still ongoing. His heart sinks. More questions without answers. "I don't understand…" He closes his eyes. God, he's tired. "Why did they take Steve?"

His question is met with silence. He opens his eyes again. Three pairs of eyes are watching. They all reflect the fear and despair he's feeling.

Swallowing hard, he voices the fear uppermost in his mind. "What it's Anton's killed him? What if this is some sort of revenge for capturing him and the sick son of a—"

"No." Junior's shaking his head. Raising his chin he looks at each of them in turn. "If it was revenge we would have found a body by now. Anton Fedorov would want everyone to know." He drops his chin, his body huddling back in on itself. "Sorry," he adds, meeting Danny's gaze. "It's just…I've seen this stuff before and I know—"

Danny stops him with a wave of his hand. "You're right." _Dear god, please be right. _"This is something else."

"And we're gonna figure out what it is." Lou gets to his feet. He releases the brakes on the wheelchair. "Tani and Junior are going back to the office. They've got an appointment with IA. If they've got any suspects within HPD who are working with this bastard, we're gonna find out. Ellie's waiting for me over at Halawa. I've got a date with Anton Fedorov." He reverses the wheelchair, aiming for the door. "And you—"

"—I'm coming with."

"—you're going back to your room. You need rest."

"Lou." Danny puts his feet down, effectively stopping the chair. "I'm coming with you."

Lou glares at him but there's no heat in it. "When Steve gets back I need to look him in the eye and tell him I looked after his man. You understand me?" Shaking his head, he gently nudges the chair forward. "I've seen him when's he angry. It ain't pretty."

Danny picks up his feet, sitting back as Lou wheels him into the corridor. He's used to Lou's style of light banter. He can hear the message underlying it, loud and clear. They're all worried - seriously worried – but they're going to stick together, no matter what happens. Even if Steve doesn't make it back.

_No. _

He silently repeats the word, like a protective mantra, as Lou wheels him back to his room. Lou's still radiating worry as he helps him back into bed so he waits until Lou's gone – with a promise to be back in a few hours – before he presses the button for a nurse. Getting out of here is going to require a lot of persuasion. He needs to get started if he's going to be ready to leave by the time Lou gets back.

H50H50H50H50

"Hey. Nice evening, huh?"

"Sure is."

"Don't think I've seen you round here before?"

"Nah. We're just visiting. Shore leave. Our boat's moored out in the bay.

"Oh. One of those huge pleasure cruisers?"

"Obscene, huh?"

"It's not my idea of sailing."

"Mine neither. Gotta make a living where you can, right?"

"Can't argue with that."

"We better be going. If we're late back on board they'll dock our pay."

"Must have been one hell of a shore leave. Your friend there, he isn't looking too good."

"Started on the beers. Moved on to the whiskey. We warned you, didn't we Steve?"

"Jeez. He really is drunk. Last time I couldn't string two words together like that, I'd been celebrating my divorce for two days straight. That's gonna be one hell of hangover tomorrow, buddy…"

H50H50H50H50H50

"Okay, you've got two choices. My place or yours. Renee's got a room for you if you want it. We thought maybe you wouldn't want to go home…"

Danny blinks, forces himself to focus on what Lou's saying. They're in Lou's truck, heading out of the hospital parking lot. Night's fallen. He checks the display on the dashboard. It's fourteen hours since Steve was taken. Lou's not updated him yet on what's happened but they fact he hasn't means it's bad news. "I'm going to the office."

Lou raises an eyebrow at him. He flicks the indicator stick down. They're turning away from the Palace and HPD headquarters.

Danny slumps further into his seat. They've given him meds for his headache but it still feels like his skull is being ripped in two. All he wants is a bed. With Steve in it. He tucks his injured arm in protectively. "Fine. Home."

The bright street lights make his headache spike. Tucking his chin down, he tries not to look at them. Pain shoots up the side of his face. Getting ready to leave in the hospital, he'd caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He's got a deep laceration above his temple, they had to shave away a small patch of hair. The left hand side of his face – from his eyebrow down to his cheek bone – is bruised and swollen.

Beside him, Lou's concentrating on driving. He's gripping the steering wheel like he wants to rip it out of the dashboard. Lou's been on edge, brittle, since he got back from Halawa.

"So," Danny says, dread making his throat dry, "what did Fedorov say?"

Lou doesn't answer. He tightens his grip on the wheel. A few moments later he slows the truck down, pulling in at the side of the road. Switching off the engine, he rests his arms on the steering wheel. He stares out through the windshield.

"Lou?"

"He laughed at us."

"What?"

Lou turns his head. Even in the shadows the anger he's feeling is obvious. "The asshole laughed at us."

Danny tucks his injured arm in closer to his body. The hatred in Lou's voice sends a shiver down his spine. "So he knows where Steve is?" It's a stupid question. He knows that. But desperation is driving him.

Lou looks away, then back again. "He's behind it. It's his fault you and Steve..." He squeezes the steering wheel. " God help me, I wanted to wipe that smile off his face.

He reaches out. Lou's arm is trembling. "What did he say?"

"Nothing." Lou curls his top lip. "He said nothing."

Danny removes his hand, gives Lou a minute to breathe. Lou's a great detective, one of the best he's ever worked with. But there's still a question he needs to ask: "You're sure he's behind this?"

He's deliberately kept his tone light. He's not trying to insult Lou. He needs this though, one solid fact to hold on to, the first step to getting Steve back.

He needn't have worried. Lou lets out a shaky breath, then another. Pulling himself upright, he turns on the engine. "Oh, he's behind it. I got no doubt about that." Glancing over his shoulder to pull out, he flashes Danny a humourless smile. "We'll figure out where his buddy Appleton has got Steve hidden. Then we'll take these bastards down."

The pass the rest of the journey in silence. Lou's still tense, his body thrumming with anger. Danny lets him have his own space. It's for selfish reasons: his mind's racing through what little information they have.

'Revenge' is the word his brain keeps coming back to. Fedorov's usually a smooth operator. Profit is his focus, he doesn't let emotions get in the way. What happened that morning, it was all about emotion. Sloppy, rushed, someone had been making bad decisions.

All day he's been trying to keep his anger in check. From painful experience he knows concussions and anger don't mix. But now he can't stop it, he doesn't want to.

That bastard had _laughed._

By the time they get to the house the meds are wearing out. Eyes half-closed against the glare of the street lights, he doesn't notice at first the dark coloured vans parked out their house. When he does his body flips into panic mode.

Lou looks apologetic. "It's the clean-up crew."

"Oh."

"We can still turn round. Renee won't mind—"

Danny raises his hand. His exhausted brain is recoiling at the idea of going in there. Everything is still too fresh, too raw. But everything that connects him to Steve is in that house. He needs it like a starving man needs food.

Lou waits for him to get out of the truck. Awkwardly, he slides out. His lack of agility isn't helped by the large bag of meds he's carrying in his good hand. The doctor had been insistent. He rattles as he shuffles to the front door.

As he enters the house the smell of cleaning fluid fills his nose. His stomach roils at the eye-watering scent. Two steps in and his gaze is drawn to the empty space on the floor in the office where the rug had been. The naked floorboards glare accusingly at him.

_You should have stopped them._

Self-loathing and despair almost make him take a step back, back towards the door. The sound of paws scrabbling down the stairs stop him. Eddie's bounding towards him, his ears flapping as he launches off the bottom step.

The meds clatter as they hit the floor. His body protests at crouching. Instead, he drops to the floor, stretching out his good arm to gather in a lapful of excited dog. Lou had told him Eddie was okay but seeing him with own eyes is a huge relief.

_It could have been so different._

His body aches at that thought. He pets Eddie some more but as glad as he is to see him, there's someone else he wants in his arms. Looking up, he checks the rest of the room. Everything's as he'd left it - _they'd_ left it – that morning.

It doesn't feel real.

_That might have been the last time that he and Steve—_

The sound of creaking floorboards cuts into his dark thoughts. Junior's standing on the landing. He nods at Lou and starts down the stairs.

"I put extra pillows in your room," Junior says casually, as if he's not armed and wearing his tac vest indoors. "I opened the window too, let the smell out." He freezes half way down the stairs as if he's just processed what he's said. "That's okay, right? I figured with your arm you'd need…"

Danny grunts in acknowledgment. He's too busy trying to get to his feet. Lou's hand on his elbow is welcomed. Puffing out air, he straightens up. "Thanks. But I won't need it. I won't be sleeping—"

"Too right," Lou cuts in, surprising him. "Well, not _much_ sleep," he corrects, gently herding Danny towards the stairs. "Doc gave me strict instructions. Every two hours, I wake you up, check you're okay."

"No—"

"Yes." Lou nudges again, until they're at the bottom of the stairs. "I promise to tell you what's happening okay?"

"I should be at the Palace—"

Lou pulls his car keys out. He offers them, eyebrows raised. The message is clear: if you think you can drive, go for it.

Danny shakes his head. He knows his friend is right. But it hurts. It hurts so much. "You need sleep too," he protests as he tackles the stairs. Lifting his feet in the right order is a monumental task. "I'll be—"

"We've got this, sir."

Danny looks up from where he's been staring at his feet. Junior's two steps up in front of him. His eyes are glittering dangerously. His body is tightly coiled, a bundle of barely restrained energy. He looks so like Steve – the Steve he met all those years ago.

Dropping his eyes again, Danny tackles the rest of the stairs.

It doesn't take him long to get settled in bed. Collapsing on top of the sheets is all he's got the energy for. Junior's right about the extra pillows, rearranging them does support his injured arm. Junior and Lou fuss for a while but eventually it's just him.

He closes his eyes.

This is _their_ room, his and Steve's. It's where they retreat to when life is hard. It's where they go to celebrate when life is good. They haven't been together as a couple for long but it feels like they've been together forever.

It _smells_ of them.

It's the scent that slowly unravels him. All day he's managed to keep everything bottled in. Despite the pain, anger and despair he's continued to function. Now, in this room, he feels very alone.

Pulling Steve's pillow close, he lets himself go.

H50h50H50

"Here you go, McGarrett. Home sweet home."

Steve can feel the shackles they lock around his wrists and ankles. The weight of the chains pull him down. Every cell in his body wants to fight back, to hurt these bastards. His brain is formulating a plan but whatever they drugged him with is still in his system and his synapses are sending signals to his limbs in slow motion. It's like wading through quick sand.

The anger boiling in his chest insists he tries. He swings his arm but he hits nothing but air. One of the men punches – no, taps – him on the chest and he tilts backwards. Too slow to stop falling, he lands on his ass, hard. He can feel the sharp pain that shoots up his spine just fine. He can hear the men's laughter too.

Wherever he is, it's almost dark. The only ray of light is from a door six feet away from. That disappears too as one of the men kneels in front of him. He's a huge hulk of a man. The black balaclava over his face looks innocuous against the tee-shirt and boardies he's wearing.

"Remember what we said about your boyfriend, McGarrett?" The man shifts. He's got a gun in his hand. "One word from us and he'll die in his hospital bed. You understand?"

Steve opens his mouth, closes it again. Talking is so hard. He doesn't want to ask the question, doesn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing his distress. But he's got to _know_. "'e's alive?"

When the man laughs in reply his arm twitches in response: in his head, he's punching the man's lights out.

"Here you go."

The man's showing him his phone. His vision's double, he's got a splitting headache. But after a moment the picture on the phone comes into focus. It's a hospital room. There's one bed. His heart soars then plummets in quick succession as he recognises Danny. The last time he'd seen Danny he'd been lying on the kitchen floor, looking more dead than alive. The Danny in this image looks awful – one side of his face is bruised, his arm is strapped in a brace – but he's _alive _and that's all that matters.

His relieved gasp brings more laughter. Steve ignores it, huddling in on himself. Until that moment he really hadn't been sure.

The men leave. The door shuts, plunging him into darkness. He raises his head, tries to make out his surroundings. Whatever he's sitting on is metal: he can feel the cold starting to seep through his clothes. Reaching out proves the room he's in is only six feet across and that the walls are metal too. Breathing in deeply, he recoils: he can smell human excrement. Underlying that, though, he can smell something equally familiar. It's engine oil, the type used on boats.

Leaning his head against the bulwark – and he's sure now that's what it is – he does a personal inventory. Whatever they gave him is starting to wear off. There's a spot on the back of his neck that's pulsing with pain, probably where the needle went in. The numbness in his limbs is starting to wear off too. Investigating with his fingers makes him wince. He's covered in knife nicks and bruises. There's a deeper cut on his arm that feels like it's crusted with dried blood.

His investigations also reveal he's dressed in a tee-shirt, boardies and training shoes. There's a part of him, deep in his mind, that's still screaming with anger, the way he'd been silently screaming when they'd dressed him back in that garage. His adrenaline spikes. Gritting his teeth, he clamps down hard on the memory. Wrapping it into a tight little ball he throws it into the deepest recesses of his mind.

Sitting back, he stares into the darkness. Gradually his mind settles, allows him to think. Whoever took him, they've got resources. The men who attacked, they'd been experts. They've taken risks to get him in here, more risks than he would have taken in their shoes. They must want him badly.

They'd been moments away from killing Danny to get to him.

Anger flares in his chest. Danny had been helpless in that hospital bed when someone had taken his picture. There's no way HPD wouldn't have put a guard on him after what happened. Hell, Lou and the team wouldn't let that happen. So, there's someone on the inside who's working for these bastards. That takes planning too.

A muscle in his calf cramps sharply. The chains around his ankle rattle when he shakes it out. The air is cold and damp. Rubbing his arms, he tries to warm up. Whoever these bastards are they want something. That means they're gonna come back. He needs to be ready to take advantage of any opportunity to escape.

Closing his eyes, he tries to focus on the mission ahead. Instead all he can see in his mind's eye is Danny lying in the hospital bed. Anger muscles its way through the calm he's trying to impose on himself. He should _be _there, with Danny, for fuck's sake. He should be _there_.

Opening his eyes again doesn't make anything better. All he wants to do is get up and pace. Instead, he tests the limits of the chains that are holding him. Feeling his way along them he discovers they're bolted into the wall and floor. They're long enough that he could probably stand up, if his legs weren't too wobbly to support him. But he'll never make it to the door that way.

Crawling forward, he finds a bucket in one corner. That explains the smell. Next to it is a plastic bottle. Opening it proves how shaky his hands still are. Sniffing cautiously reveals its water, he allows himself a drink. Dehydration is his enemy. And they've already proven they can drug him if they want.

It's not just dehydration he needs to worry about: infection is a threat too. Since the transplant Danny's made him carry anti-septic wipes with him everywhere. There's a big box of them in the trunk of the Camaro. He'd bitched about it because it was easier than watching Danny worry. But he understands the risk: the anti-rejection meds he takes everyday make him susceptible to infection. Early intervention will keep him alive.

Shaking the bottle, he estimates how much water he's got left. His heart sinks. He needs to keep some for drinking. He's got no idea if he'll get any more. Mentally he triages the injuries he aware of. Decision make, he carefully pours some on the cut on his arm. It stings, he swears as his hand wobbles. He can't afford to waste a single drop. Cupping his hand, he half-fills it with water, then pours it on the needle entry site on the back of his neck.

Sitting back on his haunches, he strains his ears to listen. He can't hear an engine. But he is gently tilting backwards and forwards: it's a motion that's so familiar to him he hadn't noticed it before. If he's on a ship it must be a big one otherwise the motion would be more noticeable. He frowns as a sketchy memory stirs in his mind.

He's on a pleasure cruiser. A large one.

He chews over that thought. Being held prisoner on a boat, he can work with that. But it still doesn't explain why he's here. A pleasure cruiser suggests someone with money. A lot of it. The only person they've had contact with like that is Anton Fedorov. He's securely locked up in Halawa.

What if Anton's escaped?

The thought makes him rock back on his heels. His brain goes into overdrive as images assail him of the brutality that Fedorov is capable of - the pictures from the FBI case files will be imprinted on his mind always.

What if Fedorov's out there with Danny, with his Ohana?

A cold flush sweeps across his skin. He folds over as his stomach rolls. Gulping in air he angrily tells himself not to panic. They can look after themselves. They'll be fine. For a moment he manages to reassure himself. Then guilt takes over, blinding him. He's left them unprotected. They're his responsibility and he's let them down.

Crawling back up against the wall, he wraps his arms around his knees. Lowering his head, he tries to clear his mind. He's been drugged before, he's aware of the after effects. Mood swings are normal, he reminds himself. He's not going to be himself for a while.

He's not sure when he first realises he can hear whispering. He's too focused on stowing his panic, calming his heart rate, to register anything else. But when he does he raises his head, scowling. It sounds like it's coming from the other side of the metal wall.

Shuffling sideways, he presses his ear against the metal. It's cold against his skin. For a second or two all he can hear is the creak of the boat, of the metal. But slowly he can make out the words:

"Hello? Is someone there?"

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

**81 days**

Danny comes awake with a jerk. For a moment all he's aware of is the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. Then he realises voices downstairs have woken him.

He's in bed. Weak, early morning light is creeping through the blinds, dappling the ceiling with sunlight. He's sweating profusely and he quickly figures out why. His broken arm is still supported by pillows. But he's using his good arm to clutch Steve's pillow across his chest. Reluctantly he lets it go. On any normal day Steve would be complaining right now about the temperature. The hollow feeling in his chest reminds him this isn't a normal day. Ignoring the empty space beside him, he struggles out of bed.

The voices he can hear are Lou and Junior's. True to their word, they'd stayed with him all night. He's got a vague recollection of both of them waking him. Each time he'd passed out again, his body too battered to do anything else.

Standing up is almost beyond him. A little voice in his mind tries to reassure him that the first day after a physical trauma is always the worst. It definitely feels like it, he thinks, as he shuffles for the bathroom. The only light at the end of the tunnel is that his headache is finally start to abate.

Looking down he realises he's still wearing Steve's sweats. A quick sniff confirms the worse. But the idea of discarding them isn't going to happen – it fills him with dread.

He uses the toilet then rinses out his mouth with cold water, before taking his meds. His jaw feels like it's been kicked by a horse. He accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His stomach twists and he looks away.

Opening the bedroom door reveals Eddie on guard duty. The dog's pleased to see him but Danny's relieved when he doesn't jump up. He feels like a puff of wind could tip him over. Grabbing hold of the banister, he shuffles towards the stairs.

It's not until he's at the top of them that Danny notices there are more than two voices. And changes have been made in the living room. The sofa's been moved into the middle of the room and spun round so it's facing the front door. In its place is the coffee table: on top of it is a large computer screen and a keyboard. Tani and Jerry are on the screen in full high-definition - he can see the shadowed crescents under their eyes. Junior and Lou are sitting on the couch, their backs to him.

The time on the bottom of the screen confirms it's just gone 8am. It's twenty-four hours since Steve was taken.

The top step creaks as he puts his foot on it. Lou and Junior spring up, turning to look at him. Jerry and Tani stop talking. They frown, worried. Danny knows they can't see him but it still feels like four pairs of eyes are staring straight at him. Gritting his teeth, he eases down the stairs.

He can tell by the way Lou and Junior are twitching that they want to help. He's grateful when they don't move. He's spent enough time in bed, being looked after. He needs to be doing his job.

Danny flops onto the couch awkwardly. His body doesn't want to bend. Ignoring the pain signals shooting from every joint, he turns his attention to the screen. "Who's gonna bring me up to speed?"

There's a pause. Silence. Then Lou's sitting down carefully beside on him the couch. Junior drops down on the arm rest on the other side. On the screen Tani flicks her hair back, tucking it behind one ear. Jerry clears his throat then starts typing furiously before looking up again.

"Internal Affairs are bringing in the first of their suspects this morning," Jerry explains. "No names yet. They're worried word will get out."

"Makes sense," Lou says. His voice sounds gravelly, overused. "Tell 'em to call us as soon as they know anything."

"Already have," Tani cuts in. "They know we're the first people they've gotta call."

Jerry's typing again, his fingers flashing across the key pad. "We talked to the Forensics lab too. Unfortunately there weren't any finger prints on that syringe. They've identified the drug. It was a sedative."

Danny finds his eyes drawn to the gap where the rug was. "So that's how they got him out of here."

Tani nods. "There's something else. HPD have been canvassing the local neighbourhood, to find out if anyone saw anything suspicious. Last night a home owner alerted them to a van that parked at the end of their street yesterday morning. They said it wasn't the first time they'd seen it parked there. The officers ran a check on it. It was rented from a hire company on the North Shore two weeks ago. The personal details left by the hirer turned out to be bogus. But what really got them interested was in the back in the truck." She swipes across the table, bringing up two pictures on both screens. "Weapons. Lots of them. And a crate."

Junior whistles low under his breath. Danny understands why. It's the type of fire power Steve would be drooling over.

"Forensics ran tests on the truck," Jerry continues, "and they got one partial print."

Lou leans forward. "Tell me it was one of our guys."

"It was. The guy in the hospital. He left a print on the steering wheel. HPD went back through his personal belongings. He was carrying keys. They match."

Danny closes his eyes, tells himself to concentrate. Something's niggling at him. "This doesn't make sense. If they were supposed to make their getaway with Steve, why is the truck still there?"

Junior smiles. There's no warmth in it. "Maybe they didn't realise what they were getting themselves into. Four against two. They probably liked their odds."

Lou hums, deep in thought. "But they ran into Steve."

Tani pushes herself away from the computer table, starts pacing. "Danny's right. This doesn't make sense. If Steve was the target they've gotta know what they were up against. Why park three blocks away—"

"What?" Danny opens his eyes again. That's the piece of information he didn't have. "Where did they find the truck?"

"Makaipa Drive." Jerry's reading the information, his brow furrowed. "That's just down from you, a couple of—"

"I know where that is." Danny pushes himself to his feet. He can't sit still any more. "It's the route Steve runs. It's on the way to the gym…" He trails off as something occurs to him. Suddenly everything is very clear. "He was supposed to go running yesterday. He goes running every Sunday."

Lou's watching him. Understanding dawns on his face. "He didn't go running yesterday."

"No." Danny pushes away the memory of Steve coming back to bed. He needs to concentrate. "So maybe our guys had to change their plans. Surprising Steve while he was out running, they might have stood a chance. Here in the house though—"

"—they were in Steve's territory. And they weren't expecting you." Junior's nodding, looking over at where the rug used to be. "They improvised."

"So how did they know where the Commander goes running?" It's Jerry who's spoken. There's a note of growing excitement in his voice. "Fedorov can't have had people following you. There hasn't been time. It's gotta be the insider."

Danny doesn't hesitate. "The gym." A lot of the HPD SWAT officers hang out there. Steve runs training courses for them. "Tani…" He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Tani's already dialling the number for IA as she disappears from the screen.

Junior gets to his feet. Pulling out his phone, he dials. "That means there has to be another truck. Something big enough to transport the Commander in. I'll talk to Duke. Doubt they were stupid enough to hire it from the same place but it's worth a try. They might have someone on CCTV too. I'll ask him to check the traffic cameras around here again too. There's got to be something." Putting the phone to his ear, he heads out the lanai, Eddie following on his heels.

Danny slumps back onto the couch. His knees are trembling. Finally, it feels like they've made a break through. He runs his hand over his face. Instantly he regrets it. Blinking against the pain, he looks back up at the screen.

The picture of the crate is still pinned in one corner. He squints at it. It's made of white plastic. At a guess it's a few feet deep. Length is harder to estimate but it's almost as long as the back of the truck.

"You think they were gonna put Steve in there?" Lou asks quietly, as if reading his mind.

"Maybe." Leaning forward, he tilts his head to get a better view. "Jerry, what's that printed on the corner?"

Jerry taps the keyboard and zooms into the image. There's a collective sigh of frustration as it comes up on the screen: It's too pixelated to make sense of.

"I'll check it out," Jerry offers, already logging off things as he speaks.

"Call us as soon as you find out anything," Lou orders but the screen's already gone blank.

Danny stares at the blank screen for a moment. It stares accusingly back at him. "I'm guessing there's no chance you're gonna let me go check out that crate."

"Correct," Lou shoots back. Whatever else he's about to say is swallowed by a yawn.

"You and Junior get any sleep yet?"

Lou's still staring at the blank screen. "We've slept."

Danny doubts that. Maybe they have slept but it can't have been for long. In between checking on him it's clear the whole team has been busy.

Pushing to his feet, he groans. His body might be wrecked and his brain scrambled by the concussion but he's still got one useful working hand. "I'll fix us coffee," he promises, tapping Lou on the shoulder to get his attention, "and then you can tell me what I've missed."

H50h50H50

Steve's not the only one who's being held captive. He's found this out from the voice on the other side of the wall. _Two _voices. They can barely hear each other but he's got enough snippets of information to build a picture.

Their names are Eduardo Ignacio and Sean MacCormac. He'd instantly recognised their surnames: they both have brothers in HPD SWAT. He'd asked how long they'd been held captive. They're disorientated, they had no idea. But he's worked enough Black Ops missions to know that it would could take weeks to reduce someone to that level of confusion.

_Weeks._

Eventually the voices on the other side of the wall fade away. After what they've probably been subjected to, he's not surprised. He knows what they must look like after weeks deprived of light, proper food and clean air. Normally they would have lost the power of conversation too. It's probably only because they're together that they've managed to keep hold of that.

Steve keeps his ear pressed against the wall. A cold shiver creeps across his skin. Goosebumps follow in its wake. His chains rattle as he tries to get comfortable. It's a wasted effort: the damp cold has already crept into his bones.

They must be below sea level, he thinks vaguely. If that's the case, this must be one hell of a big pleasure cruiser. If the other cell is the same size as this one, or bigger, that's a lot of empty storage space. Except, of course, it's not empty. These are cells, kitted out to incarcerate someone. That shows intent, planning, forethought.

Anton Fedorov.

It's the name he keeps coming back to. It's the name that makes anger flare in his chest. It triggers images in his mind – violent images – of what he's going to do to Fedorov when he gets out of here. He indulges himself. He embellishes the images. It gets his heart rate up again. He starts to feel warm.

Eventually the voice of reason hiding in the back of his mind tells him it's time to stop fantasizing. He has to get out of here, get back to Danny. He can't afford to let the anger win.

Closing his eyes doesn't make any different to the view but he does it anyway. He lets out a long, shuddering breath. He scrabbles for an alternative image but then he finds it. Pulling it towards him, he holds on tight.

In his mind it's still Sunday morning and he's still in bed. With Danny.

Leaning against the wall, he curls into himself. If he thinks hard he can imagine Danny's body spooning up behind him, Danny's muscled arm pinning him in place. He can clearly remember how Danny's skin feels against his. He can smell their bodies, imagine the warmth radiating from Danny. Danny touches, he _loves_ to touch. Even half-asleep Danny would be stroking his skin, his fingertips skating over his abs.

Having an excellent memory is both a blessing and a curse. Groaning, he drags himself away from the vivid memory. His heart falters at the sudden loss. .

The sound of footsteps approaching drags him out of his misery. Heavy, booted, there's more than one person heading his way. Scrabbling backwards, he takes his original position opposite the door. He needs them to come to him. Leaning his head back against the bulwark, he half-closes his eyes. Looking down his nose gives him a clear view of his target.

The footsteps stop outside his door. There's silence for a moment. Then the door opens. His cell is flooded with bright light. His eyes react at the sudden change: all he can see is stars. Bodies bundle through the door. Then they're on him. Four men. All masked.

He stands no chance.

They pin him out on the floor like a sacrificial offering, one man on each of his legs and arms. Arching up his spine earns him a punch to the gut. He coughs, tastes bile. Another punch has him tasting blood as the back of his head hits the metal floor.

His eyes are watering, he's dragging in air. He barely registers a fifth man coming in. Pain shoots through his skull as his hair is grabbed, pulling his head forwards. Suddenly he realises the fifth man has a phone. He's being filmed.

He cranes upwards, a last desperate attempt to get away. "Danny! They've got men wa—"

He's cut off by another punch to the gut. A sharp stab of pain goes through the back of his neck, they've injected him again. The sedative soon starts working. The men laugh as his struggles become weaker. Gradually his vision greys around the edges. Finally everything goes black.

H50H50H50

**81 days**

"You okay? You've been in here a long time."

Danny doesn't answer Lou's question. He's pretty sure his face is saying everything Lou needs to know. He's staring at Steve's meds cupboard, at the calendar, chewing at his bottom lip. "Eighty-one days," he says, gesturing at the calendar. "The giant doofus keeps count."

Lou steps up beside him. "It's really been eighty-one days since the Governor's Ball, huh?"

"Yeah."

Lou's lips curl up in fond smile. "You know what? I never thought he'd ask you."

"Me neither."

"That tuxedo you wore, that was something else."

Danny huffs his agreement. That suit he wore to the Governor's Ball had cost him half a month's pay. It had been worth every dollar. "When he gets back I'm going to take him for dinner. Somewhere swanky. I'm gonna wear that tux again." He runs his forefinger down the calendar, past all the days that have been ticked. It comes to halt on the first blank date. Today. "Tell me he's coming back, Lou."

Part of him hates asking the question. It sounds like he's being disloyal to Steve. But it's the question that's been dragging him down ever since he woke up in the hospital. Having it out in the open, it's taken some of the poison out of it.

Lou holds his gaze. There's no judgement in his eyes. "Are you gonna give up looking for him?"

"_No. _Of course I—"

"Is Steve gonna stop trying to get back to you?"

"No."

Lou hunkers down, so they're almost nose to nose. "You two, you're the most stubborn son-of-a-bitches I know. It ain't gonna be easy but I know who I've got my money on to win this fight. You've both been through the wars before. You've got this, you understand?"

"I know that." God, he knows that. North Korea. Columbia. He _knows._ Things have changed though. "His meds, Lou." He gestures at the cupboard. He works his throat. He can't talk.

Lou's hand comes to rest on his shoulder. He squeezes gently. Then he's walking across the kitchen, opening cupboards. It's not long before the smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen.

Danny waits until Lou's heading out of the kitchen with three mugs of fresh coffee. Then he picks up the red marker pen and puts a cross through today. Steve's not going to be happy. But there's no way he's going to leave the day blank.

It's a while before he feels ready to face the others. The kitchen holds new memories, ones he's struggling to process. When he goes back into the living room, Lou's on the phone. Junior's perched back on the arm of the sofa, his face scrunched as he tries to listen in.

Lou switches off his phone. He rubs his hand over his head. "Internal Affairs have arrested a SWAT officer." He pauses. He rubs his hand over his head again. "Troy Ignacio. I know him. He's a good guy, a good cop. He's got a family. Three kids."

Junior crosses his arms. "They think he was working for Anton Fedorov?"

Danny takes a step forward. He can feel the tension rising in the room.

"Not this guy," Lou insists, shaking his head. "I know him. He wouldn't do this."

Junior gets to his feet. "Someone knew where to find the Commander. Someone tipped them off. Sgt Ignacio was on the team the day we raided Fedorov's warehouse…" He trails off, looking alarmed. "Was he on the team at the hospital?"

"He wouldn't _do_ this."

Danny takes a seat on the couch. He rests his face in his hands. Lou's judgement is sound. And God knows, he's got no reason to love IA. But there's more at stake here. "We've gotta let them do their job, Lou. It's the only way to find Steve."

There's silence for a while. Then there's the shuffling of feet. The couch dips as Lou sits down on it. It dips again as Junior joins him.

Danny drops his hands as a coffee mug is wafted under his nose. Despite his lingering headache and nausea, the coffee still makes his mouth water. Looking up, he meets Junior's gaze. The kid looks apologetic. Danny makes himself smile, reassuringly. What's happening, coupled with exhaustion, it's screwing with all their minds.

Shuffling to get his injured arm comfortable, he sits back in the couch. Blowing on his coffee, he takes a sip. A collective sigh works its way down the couch as the fresh coffee works its magic.

It won't be long before Jerry calls in from the Forensics lab, he thinks as he takes another sip. Duke's due to update them about the second truck. Another talk with Ellie might be useful.

For the moment though, they need to take this moment to regroup. Then they're going to go back over everything, starting at the top. The island's locked down tight. Steve's still on here somewhere. He's sure of it. And someone out there can tell them where.

H50H50H50

Returning to consciousness is a slow process. Steve tries to claw his way back faster but his body won't respond to his commands. He floats, trapped in stasis. He's thirsty. Every inch of his body is aching. He's cold. Very cold.

His mind wanders. One moment he's in bed with Danny. The next he's in the warehouse, wrestling Anton Fedorov to the floor. His mind flips again and he's watching Danny, unconscious and bleeding on the kitchen floor. He tries to get to him but something's stopping him, like there's an invisible wall in the way.

The sound of a man screaming muscles its way into his memories. He forces his eyes opens, tries to see. The man screams again and his brain freezes, confused. It searches around, not sure what's real or fantasy.

The cold metal digging into his back is real, he's sure of that. He focuses on it, dragging himself back to consciousness. He manages to wiggle a finger. Then he wiggles his toes. His arms and legs are tingling with pins and needles. He winces but at least feeling is coming back.

There's another scream.

His heart rate speeds up. The sound is real, not in his imagination. It's slightly muffled. There's shouting, men's voices. Then a shot rings out. Just one shot. It echoes in the darkness.

Booted feet walk away, along the corridor. It sounds like they're dragging something heavy behind them.

Silence falls.

Steve tells his body to move, just fucking _move_. Inch by inch he rolls on his side. Bending his knees, he gets onto his front. It takes several attempts but finally he's crawling towards the adjoining wall.

Panting with effort he slumps against it. Dread filling his heart, he puts his ear against the wall. "Hey, what happened? You guys okay?"

No one answers him. All he can hear is the faint sound of sobbing.

H50H50H50H50

**81 days**

Danny sits on the leather recliner. Legs stretched out, he's got a laptop on his knees. He's reading back through all the information they have on the Anton Fedorov case. Finishing one file, he clicks open another. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he starts reading again.

It's nearly lunchtime. He's taken a second dose of his pain meds and he's almost feeling human. He's even managed a brisk shower and a change of clothes. He's wearing a tee and an ancient pair of Steve's cargo pants. The fabric's so worn and soft it's not irritating his bruised skin.

Over on the couch, Junior is starting to wake up. He'd finally agreed to a few hours of sleep- but only on the understanding Danny stayed closed by. His gun is resting next to his hand. There's a fully loaded shotgun on the coffee table.

Danny looks up as the floorboards upstairs creak. Lou had taken the guest bedroom. The rest of the team had taken a break at the Palace too. They'd all been as reluctant as Junior but he'd insisted: Steve would have done the same.

Now it's time to get back to work.

He heads into the kitchen. Ignoring the burn marks on the wall behind the stove he muddles his way through making more coffee one-handed. By the time it's ready Tani and Jerry are pulling up on the driveway outside with enough take-out bags to feed a small army. Once Eddie's finished welcoming them and everyone's found a seat in the living room, he cuts to the chase:

"Someone please tell me we've got something."

Jerry flicks the lid off a take-out carton with one hand. With the other he types, bringing up a picture of the crate on the screen. "The logo belongs to the Kahaluu Fishing Company. They use them to freeze tuna and transport it to the mainland. They've got a processing warehouse over in Kahaluu marina. But they rent the crates out to local fisherman so they can bring their catches in."

Junior spears some fries on his fork. Popping it in his mouth he chews and swallows fast . "They got any idea how the crate got in the van?"

Jerry stares at his food despondently. "Nope. But they're getting us a list of people they rented them to. Should have it in the next half hour."

"It's a start." Danny pushes away his food. It's probably just a side effect of the meds but he's not hungry. "Once we've got the list we'll start going door to door."

"Not much luck with the other truck either," Tani reports, prodding at her food with her fork. "Duke's got teams checking the CCTV and rental companies but no luck yet."

"Tell 'em to keep going." Lou slumps back in his chair. He doesn't seem interested in his food either. "How about IA? You heard from them?"

Tani puts down her fork. "They're still interviewing Sgt Ignacio. All they'd say was he seemed terrified when they arrested him."

"Really? They raid a guy's house at the crack of dawn and they wonder why he's not making them breakfast?" Lou looks away, his jaw working. When he looks back his jaw is clenched. "Fine. Once we've eaten we'll break into two teams and start on that list."

"I'm coming with." Danny gives Lou the side-eye, daring him to disagree. "I can't drive but I can ask questions."

Lou looks like he's going to say something. Junior gets there before him. "Sure. You can ride with me."

Danny hides a half-smile by sipping at his coffee. Steve would be proud of his protegee. Junior's just very smoothly appointed himself as bodyguard for the day.

Lou seems to know when he's beaten. Within minutes they've agreed he'll pair up with Tani. Jerry's going back to the Palace to help Duke with the CCTV. Danny makes a mental note to drop in and see Ellie too.

They're just tidying away the food containers and the coffee mugs, when they hear a car pulling up outside. Junior's closest to the front door. He pulls it part way open, one hand on the gun at his hip.

Danny's mouth goes dry as Junior's body tenses. For a brief wild moment he thinks it's Steve come home. It's been a huge misunderstanding: Steve will stride back into the house, a sheepish half-grin on his face. He goes to take a step forward but Lou's hand on his chest stops him. His other hand is on his holstered gun too.

Danny's confusion grows as Junior lowers his gun. Opening the door wide, he stands to attention.

The Governor walks in, her protection detail close behind her. Quickly scanning the room, her gaze lands on him.

Danny's anxiety levels shoot through roof. His world reduces to a small tunnel of vision. He's focused on the Governor's face. He's not had much contact with her, that's Steve's job. But he doesn't have to know her well to be able to read her face.

She's here to deliver bad news.

"I'm sorry to arrive unannounced," she starts but he doesn't hear the rest. Lou's steering him back towards the couch, gently pushing him down. He drags in a steadying breath as Tani and Lou take a seat either side of him. Junior's standing behind them, like a ninja guardian angel. Jerry's hovering at the end of the couch, eyeing the Governor's protection detail suspiciously.

God, he loves these people so much.

Silence has fallen. The Governor's still watching him. The sympathy in her eyes makes his heart beat like a hummingbird's. His hand's shaking as he waves her toward the vacant recliner.

She perches on the end of it. Her security detail places himself between the chair and the door.

She's wearing a black skirt suit and a white blouse. She always look crisp, professional. Today she looks crumpled. Dipping into her jacket pocket she pulls out a pen drive. "This video was delivered to my office this morning." She hesitates as Jerry takes an involuntary step towards her. After a moment, she gives him the drive. "We had to check the validity of it before we could show it to you," she continues, watching as Jerry slots the drive into the laptop. Her eyes meet Danny's again. "It's a video of the Command—Steve."

The video is only twenty seconds long. The lighting's awful but it's clear it's Steve. His fight to escape his captors is heart-wrenchingly painful. Lou swears under his breath, his hands clenching on his lap. Danny can focus on only one thing though:

"He's alive."

His voice is barely a whisper but he can't hide his desperation. Lou nudges him with his shoulder. Tani rests her hand on his leg. He takes a breath, then another one. Slowly, he gets his body under control.

The Governor's still staring at the screen. The video's frozen, just fading to grey. Steve's face is barely visible.

Impatience makes him sit forward. Pain shoots up his right arm. "Who's got him? Is this something to do with Anton Fedorov?"

The Governor turns to face him. Crossing her legs at the ankles, she carefully places her hands in her lap. "Yes. The video came with a message." Her fingers interlink. "The Commander's kidnappers want us to release Fedorov."

"Before he's moved to the mainland?"

She nods at Junior's question. "They've given me until 2pm Tuesday, tomorrow, to comply with their request. If I don't…" She pauses. Regret sweeps across her face. "They're threatening to kill Steve if I don't do what they ask."

Lou shifts beside him. "You're gonna give them what they want right? There'll be a handover, we'll get in there and—"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I will not…I cannot release terrorists or criminals like Fedorov—"

"After everything he's done for these islands you're just giving up on him like he's—"

"Tani."

Lou's voice is low. It brooks no argument. Tani slumps back in the couch, crossing her arms.

The Governor studies each of them in turn. "I'll reach out to them," she says, softly. "I'll keep them talking—"

"—but the clock's ticking. That's what you're saying right?"

Danny can feel all eyes settling on him. He's surprised how calm his voice sounds. Deep down he knows he should be angry – at Anton Fedorov, at the Governor, at the fucking stupid rules – and he is. He's _so_ fucking angry. But there's just one thought in his brain right now: Steve's _alive_.

Until he'd watched the video he hadn't realised how unsure of that fact he'd been. He looks at the screen again. Every inch of Steve is fighting to get back to him. All he has to do is find him and bring him back.

He's done that before. He can do it again. He gets to his feet. He can feel Lou's hand hovering behind him. "You'll keep us updated."

A flicker of surprise crosses her face. He wasn't asking her a question. Lifting her chin, she gets to her feet. "Whatever you need, Detective. You'll have it."

She leaves a few minutes later. She's taken her security detail with her but left the pen drive behind. As the door closes behind them, Jerry's resetting the video, concentrating hard.

Danny turns away. He knows he can rely on Jerry to find any morsel of information he can from the recording. But he doesn't want to be here when Jerry runs the video again. Readjusting the sling on his broken arm, he straightens his shoulders. "Let's go," he orders. "Let's check out that list of names."

H50H50H50

The sobbing's finally stopped.

Steve winces as he moves away from the wall. His neck's aching from staying in one position for so long. Moving his head from side to side in a vain attempt to get the crick out, he listens. There's a low rumbling sound. The metal floor is vibrating.

They're on the move.

The engine had started up just after they'd killed Eduardo with one shot to the head and dragged his body out. He knows now that's what happened. He's been talking to Sean MacCormac since then, trying to calm him, give him something to hold on to in the dark. He's got no idea if it helped at all.

It hasn't helped him. He still feels as helpless as he did when the shot was fired. He still wants to annihilate Fedorov. But most of all he _needs_ to know Danny's safe.

They had three hostages, three valuable pawns to negotiate with. Now they've only got two. Those bastards murdered Eduardo Ignacio in cold blood for a reason. He can guess why. They needed to make a statement, to show they meant business. That means that someone out there is putting pressure on them. And he knows who.

His friends are coming to get him.

He experiences a moment of elation. Then it's snuffed out, strangled by fear. Danny's out there with Fedorov's men watching him. If Lou and the team threaten Fedorov's operation they could end Danny's life like they ended Eduardo's. One bullet and Danny's life – and his – would be over. And he's sitting here doing _nothing_.

The first time his fist hits the wall it stings. But the pain is what he needs. The second time a growl escapes from his throat. He's certain the cells are sound insulated but there's no way he's letting Fedorov's men hear his pain. The third time his teeth are gritted as the pain vibrates through every bone in his hand. The fourth time he feels a spike of satisfaction as the pain crawls up his arm.

He's not sure how long he hits the wall. Everything's faded into a blur of pain and anger. When he stops his hand and arm hurt like hell. And the darkness is still there, along with the helplessness, creeping up on him like an enemy in the night.

His whole body shudders. Every joint in his body is starting to ache. His mouth feels dry. His stomach should be too empty to feel nauseous but it cramps painfully anyway.

Blindly he reaches out for the water bottle. He's been putting it back in the same place every time. When his hand touches nothing his heartbeat rockets. They'd hardly been any water left in it. But if it tipped over in his fight with Fedorov's men, he's screwed. Carefully, he feels around in the dark. When he finally finds it – close to the door, almost out of his reach – he slumps with relief.

The bottle's heavier. It's been filled up again.

Crawling back into the corner, he tries to unscrew the lid. He frowns at how weak his grip is, how difficult it is to make his aching fingers work. He's been trained how to deal with incarceration and deprivation. Shaking his head, he tries again with his other hand. A sharp pain shoots down the back of his neck but he's oblivious: he's got the bottle open and suddenly he's aware of just how thirsty he is.

He takes two gulps then reluctantly screws the lid back on. He puts the bottle back down, tucking it against the wall where he can find it again.

The engine noise has got louder he realises, as he curls up on his side, his ear to the floor. The rocking motion is more noticeable too. They've moved out into choppier waters.

They're on the run.

The metal chains drag across the floor as he pulls his knees into his chest, hugging himself tightly. His cold, aching back muscles protest as he tries to stretch them out. If Fedorov's men are running he needs to be ready. Working systematically, he starts to stretch out the rest of his muscles.

He's weary by the time he finishes. He shakes his head, frustrated. He works hard to maintain his fitness. It shouldn't be as hard as this. As he sits back in the corner, facing the door, his eyelids start to droop. Trying to keep them open is useless, his body has other ideas.

Sleep claims him. His body twitches as his mind throws him into an endless spiral of memories of Danny in danger. Every single one feels like a damning condemnation of his ability to protect the man he loves.

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

**82 days**

"Concussions are a bitch, huh?"

Danny goes to nod at Junior's question and catches himself just in time. Sitting at home, full of meds, the side-effects of the concussion had felt minimal. Now they're outside again, his injured brain's not happy at being assaulted with light and noise.

"Try these."

Gingerly, he opens his eyes. They're in Junior's car. Junior's offering him a pair of shades. Danny puts them on. Instantly his brain sighs with relief. "Thanks."

His stomach still lurches when his eye catches passing traffic. Lips pinched, he brings his focus back inside the car. He realises Junior keeps looking over at him. Meeting his gaze he raises his eyebrows.

Junior seems hesitant to share. They drive another block before he speaks. "I just thought…I thought you'd be angry. I'm not sure I'd be so calm."

Danny fiddles with his sling. He understands that Junior's only asking out of concern. But flashes of Steve on the video keep appearing in his mind's eye. Each one is like a punch to his heart. Saying what he's feeling out loud, bringing it out in the open? That would be a monumentally fucking bad idea right now.

Junior studies him. He turns his attention back to the road. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I should have taken a shot when I had a chance."

Danny raises his eyebrows again. For once in his life he really doesn't want to talk. Steve would love that.

"Fedorov. Back at the warehouse. If I'd taken him out then Steve wouldn't…this wouldn't have happened."

_I know, Junes. Don't you think I'm thinking the same? If only I'd taken the shot…_Huffing out air, Danny slides off the shades. "We did our job that day," he says softly, staring at Junior until he looks at him. "Steve wouldn't have it any other way." He points at the list of companies that's resting in his lap. "We're gonna do our job now. That's all you think about. You can chew over old missions with Steve when he gets back. You understand?"

Junior smiles at him. It's weak, a shadow of his normal gleaming smile. "Copy that."

They're heading for the Makani Kai marina. It's the first of five addresses on their list. Lou and Tani's list is similar in length. The addresses are spread across Oahu. As Junior parks Danny tries not to think how long it's going to take to visit all of them.

Danny slides the shades back on as he gets out of the car. He checks his wrist: Steve's ridiculously hi-tech watch glints back at him. It's 3pm. They've got less than twenty-four hours to find Steve.

As they work their way along the pier, his heart sinks even further. The mooring they're looking for is empty. He swears under his breath. Glancing around doesn't give him any answers. There are other boats but it's quiet: they probably belong to weekenders.

Standing next to him, Junior kicks the mooring post: he swears as he stubs his toe. In unspoken agreement they head for the car. They haven't got time to waste. While they're driving to the next address they'll call Jerry and get him to track down the boat.

They're walking along the boardwalk, almost back to the car, when a truck pulls up. The man who gets out is in 60's. His tanned, weather-beaten skin stands out against his white grease-stained tee and shorts.

They introduce themselves, showing their badges. They ask the man if he knows anything about the boat that would have been at the mooring they're interested in. He studies them suspiciously. Danny's not surprised. He's still wearing Steve's ratty cargo pants, an old tee-shirt and slippahs. His face is still bruised, the laceration on his head makes him look like he's been in beer-fuelled fight.

Junior just looks angry. Very angry.

"It wasn't a fishing boat," the man says after a pause. "It was a tender for one of those big pleasure cruisers."

Danny frowns with disappointment. It doesn't sound like they'd use the fishing crates. He pulls his phone from one of the many pockets in his cargo pants and swipes across the screens. "Have you seen either of these men?" he asks, with not much enthusiasm. "Maybe over the weekend?"

"I've been out on my boat," he says, fishing a pair of glasses out of his shorts and putting them on. "Is this guy dead?"

Junior shuffles from one foot to the other. "Yes, Sir. Do you recognise them by any chance?"

The man shakes his head and pulls his glasses off. "'Fraid not. It's kinda quiet around here during the winter. We don't get many strangers- Hey, I think I might have seen him somewhere."

Danny freezes. He'd been about to put away his phone. It's locked on his home screen. That's the picture the man's looking at, leaning forward to get a better view. His heart thuds painfully. His breath catches in his throat. "You recognise him?" he stutters, pointing at the picture of Steve.

The man puts his glasses back on. "Maybe? There's something familiar…I've seen him somewhere…"

Junior crowds up beside him as the man peers at the phone. He's radiating barely controlled excitement. Danny braces himself for disappointment as the seconds tick by.

"Yesterday evening," the man announces finally. "He was with two friends. Drunk as a skunk. Was barely talking." He turns, slowly surveying each of the moorings. "Now you mention it, they got on that tender."

Junior points at the mooring, just to be sure. "From there?"

"Yeah."

Junior bounces on his toes. "You said it belonged to a pleasure cruiser. Do you know which one?"

"Don't remember the name on the tender," he says, squinting in thought. "They were wearing uniforms. White shirts, blue shorts."

"They were staff?"

"Hmm-hmm. Said they were coming back from shore leave. Said their buddy had too much drink. Looked like he'd been fighting," he adds, conspiratorially. "Had one hell of a bruise on his face. Some people can't hold—"

"So you've got no idea where their boat was moored?" Danny interrupts, waving his good hand. He's out of patience. And he doesn't care who knows. "It's gotta be close by, right?"

"Sure," the man replies, like it's blindingly obvious. He grins, pointing out towards the horizon. "It was moored at the edge of the bay."

Danny's pacing away as soon as the man finishes. Behind him he can hear Junior asking for a few more details. He doesn't look back though. His heart's racing, his skin clammy with shock. They've just found out how those bastards got Steve off the island. Five minutes earlier and they would have walked away without knowing any of this.

He's leaning against the door of the car when Junior joins him a few minutes later. He's just about getting his breathing under control.

"I'll call the Coast Guard," Junior announces. He's buzzing with nervous energy. "They can track the movement of cruisers in the area over the last forty-eight hours."

Danny licks his lips. "You sure they gonna be able to find it?" He hates asking but he's not sure he's going to survive the disappointment if they get this wrong. "They could be heading for the mainland and—"

"Not this one," Junior cuts in, resting a hand on his good shoulder. "They're designed for cruising in coastal waters. They're still out there somewhere…"

H50H50H50H50

"_Dad? I'm going to get you out of there, all right? Don't worry about it."_

"_I'm sorry that I lied to you."_

"_Lied to me about what, Dad? What are you talking about?"_

"_I love you son. I didn't say it enough. Whatever these people want Steve, don't give it to them. Don't give it to them…"_

Steve's eyes fly open as the shot rings out. The nightmare's still running in his head though: he's still back in North Korea, listening to his father die at the other end of a telephone line. His blood runs cold as the horror of what's just happened sinks in. He yells for his father, begs him to answer. But the line stays silent. Then it goes dead.

He tries to scrabble away from the memory. The shackles stop him, digging into his skin. The pain is enough to start bringing him back to reality. But in his head he can still hear the buzzing of the dead phoneline.

The harsh sound of his breathing acts as a counterpart to the buzzing. He starts counting each breath – in, then out. Staring blindly into the darkness, he starts to ground himself.

The metal floor is still vibrating, they're still on the move. The water bottle is where he left it. There's still no food. He feels nauseous anyway: the last thing he needs is to start throwing up. When he gets out of here, he thinks, he'll have Danny make him pancakes. The chocolate chip ones. They're almost as good as sex.

He snorts. The drugs must be really screwing with his head. That statement is _so_ far from the truth.

The thought triggers images he's been trying to subdue. His heart yearns to be back at home, with Danny curled up beside him. He wants it so bad he can almost reach out and touch Danny's skin, imagine his warmth beside him.

"I screwed up, Dad," he whispers into the darkness. Resting his head on his knees, he winces as a sore spot on the back of his neck makes itself known. "They've got eyes on Danny. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

Rubbing at his eyes, his fingers come away damp. For the first time in a long time he'd actually got something right. Telling Danny how he'd felt about him had scared the hell out of him. The payoff had been worth it though. The last few months have been the best of his life.

The image of Danny in the hospital bed springs into his mind. It's like ice cold water being dumped on his head. He shudders in reaction, his skin flushing hot and then cold. He couldn't save his Dad when he needed him. Now he's not there to save Danny either. The sense of utter failure makes his shoulders bow.

He's been expecting this to happen since the first time he woke up here; this moment when the demons in his head would stir. It's only his mind playing tricks on him, he knows that. Memories are just that, they can't actually hurt you. Only the future is important, not the past.

Knowing all this, it still doesn't make it any easier. It was a future with Danny and they'd had _plans_. Sitting on the beach late at night together discussing them, it had felt like anything was possible. Now it feels like a sick joke played on him by his imagination. His chest aches, mourning the loss of his dreams.

He pulls at the chains that are shackled to his wrists, straining every muscle in his body. He keeps going until he can see white dots behind his eyelids, and then he keeps going some more. Sweat rolls down his forehead, making him blink as it seeps into his eyes. Panting hard, he lets go.

Reaching out into the darkness he runs his fingers back along the chains, to where they're screwed into the wall. It's not a surprise to find he hasn't shifted them. This isn't the first time he's tried this. In a while he'll try again. The last thing he wants to do is jeopardise Danny's safety. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to exploit any opportunity to test his boundaries. He needs to be ready, just in case.

Slumping back against the wall, he steadies his breathing. His muscles are aching from the sudden exertion. His eyelids droop: exhaustion is trying to claim him again. Cursing quietly at himself he sits up straighter. This isn't acceptable. He _needs_ to stay awake.

H50H50H50

"Still ignoring the doc's advice not to use a computer screen, huh? Guess you're gonna need these."

Danny looks up from the laptop. He's sitting at Steve's desk in the Palace. Rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands brings Steve's office into focus. Lou's standing in the doorway, holding a packet of pain meds in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

Slumping back in the chair, he waves Lou in. He swallows the pills and chugs down the water without complaint. He looks at Steve's watch – it's nearly 9pm. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he turns his attention back to the laptop.

The marina had CCTV. Hours of searching through footage had been worth the effort. The camera's captured the moment three men get into the tender. The witness had been right: they're dressed identically, in white tee-shirts, blue shorts and baseball caps. The men on either side are supporting the man in the middle who seems barely able to hold himself up. He's got the image enlarged on the screen but he doesn't need the detail to know that it's Steve in the middle.

"You've been looking at that for nearly two hours. Maybe it's time you took a break."

Danny drags his eyes away from the screen long enough to look at Lou's face and register the worry there. Then he runs the video from the start again.

There's a name painted on the stern of the tender. But no matter which way he looks at it, he can't make the name out. It was dusk when they'd got on the boat so the image is grainy, all definition smothered by long shadows.

"You know Forensics are looking at that, don't you?" Lou pulls out the chair across the other side of the desk and sits down. Claws click on the tiled floor as Eddie is disturbed from his hiding place under the desk. Peering over the top of the laptop, Lou's expression is sympathetic but determined. "I need you to stop."

"There's gotta be something in here we're missing."

Lou leans over. He pushes the laptop shut. "You need a break."

Danny can see through to the main office now the laptop's closed. Tani and Jerry are leaning over the computer table. Junior's pacing, his arms folder across his chest. They're working their way through the ownership documents of pleasure cruisers that have registered with Hawaiian waters within the last two weeks.

Danny feels weary all the way to his bones as he watches them. Solving cases in a day only happens on TV. But Steve's out there, waiting for him. And time is moving fast. _So_ fast.

Ellie's been back to talk to Anton Fedorov. She took Lou with her again. He'd wanted to go instead. Ellie had argued it would give Fedorov satisfaction, that he'd gain nothing personally from being there. He'd spent the time instead working with Jerry, trying to track down who Fedorov was paying off inside the prison. They'd come up empty. So had Lou and Ellie.

The team's investigations into Mick Appleton, the fixer, are ongoing. The FBI have found shell accounts that include payments to the dead and injured men from the house. There are other names in the accounts who have received payments but there are hundreds of them. Tracking down which ones might be in Hawaii is going to take a long time. The man they really need – Appleton – is a ghost. They can't find anything to link him to Anton but that's not unexpected. There's a reason he's never been caught.

Tomorrow morning they're going to question the man in the hospital again. In the meantime they've got weeks of CCTV tapes from the marina still to check. IA are still questioning Sgt Troy Ignacio and investigating other HPD officers. The Coast Guard are sweeping the coastline, checking boats under the guise of their normal immigration and security remit. Everyone involved in the search has screen captures from the CCTV. The quality might not be brilliant but it might be enough to prompt someone's memory.

"Danny?"

He blinks, reeling his thoughts back in. His brain is running like a hamster on a wheel even if his body can't keep up. Muscles cramp in his shoulder as he gets up slowly. Straightening up his sling, he waits for Lou to get up too. The last time he can remember seeing his friend looking so worried Samantha had been kidnapped by Ian Wright. Reaching out with his good arm, he pulls Lou into a hug. Lou wraps his arms around him in return. For a moment they stand together, trying to share the worries that are weighing them down.

When he pulls away, Lou leaves one hand resting on his shoulder. It stays there, guiding him out of the office. His stomach rumbles reminding him he's barely eaten all day. His headache spikes as his eyes react to the bright lights in the main office. It's possible food isn't a good idea.

Everyone turns to watch him as he approaches the computer table. There's none of the usual banter. Jerry's already giving him an update on what they've found – which is nothing - with Tani and Junior adding comments here and there. Their voices are tired and brittle, verging on argumentative. Lou's right, Danny thinks vaguely. They do all need to eat.

He's just about to say as much when a notification pops on the screen: they've got an incoming call. Jerry accepts the call and then steps back, letting him take control.

He recognises the number. "Noelani. You're on speaker phone."

"Detective Williams?" There's a pause. "I thought you'd still be in hospital."

Beside him Lou snorts loudly. He spares him a sideways glance. Noelani's gone quiet but in the background there's a lot of noise. "Where are you?"

"In a helicopter." There's a burst of static. "HPD got a call this afternoon. A body washed up on the beach at Rocky Point. I've just been to examine it—"

"I don't see what that's got to do—"

"He was wearing a white tee shirt and blue shorts."

Danny feels like all the air's been sucked out of his lungs. Around him, he can see everyone else feels the same.

Lou steps up beside him. His hand is back on his shoulder. "Noelani. It's Lou. Do we know who it is?"

"I'll need to run his prints properly when I get to the lab but initial checks suggest his name is Eduardo Ignacio." There's another pause. "Does that help?"

Noelani's question hangs in the air. She sounds apologetic and hopeful all at once. He leans forward to answer but he can't catch his breath. Despite knowing Noelani would never break bad news like that, for a second there – just a second – he'd thought the body was Steve.

"Guys? Are you still there?"

"It helps." Danny's voice is barely above a whisper. He clears his throat. "Call us when you get any more information."

The call ends.

"Bastards." Lou's striding for the main door, his hands curled into fists. It rattles as it closes behind him. The glass door doesn't totally muffle his curses as his starts pacing up and down the corridor.

"The surname's not a coincidence is it," Junior says in the silence that follows. "Our dead guy's related to the HPD officer IA arrested, Troy Ignacio."

"Yeah." Danny grips the computer table with his good hand. His knuckles turn white. "My guess is Steve's not the only person they've taken."

"That's how they've been getting people to inform for him." She covers her face with her hand. "They're sending us a message."

He nods at Tani's statement. Words are unnecessary. They've all got the message loud and clear: don't fuck around trying to find us. We're not afraid to kills hostages. Steve will be next.

Silence falls over the office again. They all seem to be frozen in place. A minute ticks past on the big screen. Another minute lost and they're no closer to finding Steve. Danny stirs himself. The grief he feels for the police officer and his family gives him another reason, as if he needs it, to make sure Anton Fedorov spends his life behind bars. They've got work to do.

He's turning away from the table when the thought hits him. He whips back round. The dawning horror on Tani's face matches his own. The last time they'd spoken to Internal Affairs, they'd been about to arrest another HPD officer.

"Call them," he orders, hoarsely, but Tani's already pulling out her phone. "Tell them to get the hell out of there."

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

H50H50H50

**83 days**

"There's gotta be someone we can call—"

"Lou—"

"She's shutting us out, man. They're making plans for the exchange and they're shutting us out."

Danny looks out of the windscreen of Lou's truck. They're parked outside the gates to the Governor's residence. The sun is rising over Honolulu. The sky has a soft, orange glow.

The clock on the dashboard confirms it's 8am. His nails catch on his whiskers as he rubs his chin. The Governor's just confirmed the handover has been scheduled for 2pm.

It's warm in the cab but he shivers anyway. His body's stiff from trying to sleep on the couch in Steve's office. His eyes feel like they're full of grit. "You saw those people in the meeting. There's no one else _to _call."

"Danny—"

"We both know there isn't going to be an exchange. As soon as Anton's men realise that they're gonna kill Steve and any other hostages."

He bites his tongue. He hadn't meant to share his thoughts. He hitches his sling up. His shoulder is aching like hell. Beside him Lou's rubbing his hand over his face – it's a toss-up which one of them looks more tired.

Lou breathes out, slow. "We've still got six hours."

"We have." He dips his head to avoid Lou's scrutiny. Six hours – it seems like nothing, a blink in time. Since he woke up in the early hours of the morning his mind's been teetering on the edge of an abyss of grief and anger. It's taking everything he has not to fall in. Steve feels further away from him with every minute that passes.

"Let's go see Noelani."

The note of determination in Lou's voice is unconvincing. Danny nods anyway, looking out of the passenger window as Lou starts up the truck. Noelani's been carrying out the autopsy on Eduardo Ignacio. It's difficult to know what clues the body can give them after it's been in the sea but Noelani's worked miracles with less.

He holds onto that thought as they arrive at the Coroner's Office. Making their way to Noelani's office his body feels like a dead weight, so heavy that every movement, every thought, is an effort.

Noelani's sitting at her desk. Head in her hands, her normally neat ponytail has been replaced by a rough topknot. The click of the door draws her attention. Raising her head, she smiles in welcome as she always does. The smile dies as she studies his face. Getting to her feet she raises her hand as they meet halfway across the office, her fingers hovering over the cut on his head.

He drags up a half-smile. "It's not as bad as it looks."

His reassurance has the opposite effect. Her dark eyes fill with sadness. Pushing her glasses up her nose she takes a closer look. "They did a good job."

Danny flicks his lips upwards again. He guesses she's referring to the doctors, not the men who attacked him. "I'll live."

He cringes inwardly at how flippant he sounds. But her natural warmth, her empathy, is verging on being more than he can handle. He takes a step away from her, and from the grief that's threatening to overwhelm him. Turning, he nods towards the autopsy room. "The Governor said you've finished the autopsy on Sgt Ignacio's brother?"

She stuffs her hand in the pocket of her lab coat. She glances over at her autopsy room and back again. "Should you..um…I'm not sure you should be here—" She takes a breath, starts again. ""I could give you the report here. There's no need for you to see—"

"It's okay. I want to see him."

Her gaze moves beyond him, to where Lou is standing behind him. He can imagine Lou's expression without looking. He senses Lou's shrug.

Noelani throws Lou another worried look as she stuffs her hands in the pockets of her white lab coat and leads them through to the autopsy room. The screens are blank. The dissection table is empty.

The smell of cleaning fluids make his stomach roil. It's not just the smell though, he knows that. It's the growing feeling of dread. It gets worse when Noelani hesitates by the freezer cabinets. A loud buzzing noise starts in his head as she pulls one of them open.

Danny's read the file Internal Affairs sent over. Eduardo Ignacio was five feet eight inches tall, of Hispanic descent, with brown eyes and short, dark brown hair. His knees still go weak with relief though when the dead man doesn't look anything like Steve.

Deep down, he wants to run. Guilt keeps his feet stuck to the floor though. The dead man was Sgt Ignacio's brother. He's got a good idea of what the other man is going through right now.

Annoyed with himself, he drags his mind back into the room. He forces himself to look at Ignacio's body again. Noelani's covered the gunshot wound in his forehead: photographs would have been taken for the family to make an identification. It would have been a small comfort. According to IA he'd been missing for nearly six weeks. His body is a roadmap of every single one of those days.

"He was suffering from malnutrition and dehydration. There were signs of recent bruising. Tox screen revealed faint traces of a sedative." Noelani pauses, meets his eyes. "It was the same sedative Forensics found on the syringe in your house."

He nods. He seems to have lost his voice.

"There was oil on the shorts he was wearing," she continues, sharing another glance with Lou, who's loitering silently. "Engine oil. A type used on boats. I got a partial print. It took some time but Forensics got a match."

His brain snaps back into action. He blinks. "Have you sent that to—"

"—Jerry? Yes. Twenty minutes ago."

"Good." He looks at the body again, really look. He clears his throat. "Anything else?"

"I've checked his body for DNA evidence. Unfortunately the sea water has washed away the evidence, assuming there was any in the first place."

Lou leans closer, looking over his shoulder "How long was he in the water?"

"Two hours at most. Time of death was probably immediately before that."

Danny's heartbeat ramps up, like he's just finished a run. "A couple of hours? That's all? Did you—"

"—tell Jerry?" She manages a tired, half-smile. "Yes. He muttered something about calling the Coast Guard. Then he cut me off."

His feet are twitching at the news, he needs to be moving again. Despite all the years he's spent hanging out with Steve – or perhaps because of them - his nautical knowledge is still lacking. But he's pretty sure that if the body was only in the water for less than two hours that's just given them a much smaller search radius to work with.

He's turning away when something else catches his eye. Eduardo Ignacio's body is covered by a sheet: Noelani's pulled it back, to reveal his head and torso. As she lifts it to cover him again his left arm is revealed. She drops the sheet instantly but they've already seen enough. The skin around his wrist is raw.

Lou hisses under his breath. "Jesus."

Noelani gently pushes the cabinet closed. "His other wrist and both his ankles are the same," she says softly, her hand still resting on the handle. "He was restrained for a long period of time."

"Six weeks." Lou's voice sounds gruff. He rubs his hand over his head. "We're gonna nail these bastards."

He should be agreeing, Danny thinks vaguely. But the buzzing noise is back and it's getting louder. Up to now he's tried hard – so hard – not to imagine what's happening to Steve right now. Even in the darkest moments of the night he's managed to dredge up happy memories, to imagine it's Sunday morning and they're back in bed together. Now he's got evidence of what probably is happening and his imagination is filling in the gaps. Noelani was right – he shouldn't have come in here.

The buzzing noise grows until it's a deafening roar.

He's not sure what happens next. But suddenly he's sitting in the chair next to Noelani's desk. She's kneeling next to him, her fingers circling his wrist, checking his pulse. He sits and lets her for a moment. Then he gently tugs it away.

Her face clouds over as she meets his eyes. "How long is it since you ate something?"

"I've eaten—"

"Poking at your food don't count."

Danny carefully twists in the chair to see Lou, who's standing behind him. "I'm good," he insists, already testing his legs out. He's got feeling: that's got to be enough. "We need to get back to the office." Carefully, he pushes himself upright with his good hand. "Jerry's gonna need help."

Lou's face says he doesn't agree. "He's got Tani and Junior. You can take a minute," he starts but he's interrupted by his phone ringing. His expression softens as he checks the number. "It's Renee."

Danny bobs his head at the door when Lou hesitates. As Lou disappears, already talking, he slumps. They've all agreed not to tell their families what's happening – not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. Even Mary doesn't know: she's had a standing agreement with Steve about situations like this for a while. But Renee's gonna hear Lou's voice and know something bad is happening. She needs this time. So does Lou, maybe even more.

His own heart aches with emptiness. It's hard to believe Steve's only been gone a few days.

The soft touch of Noelani's hand on his elbow brings him back to the present. Danny leans into her gratefully. His body still feels disconnected from his mind.

They wait in silence. The low rumble of Lou's voice floats back from out in the hall. Eventually he finishes the call. He starts walking back.

Noelani takes a step back, her hand hovering. Looking back towards the lab, she bites at her bottom lip. A cloud of sadness crosses her face. "How many of them are there?"

It takes Danny a moment to understand the question. His stomach sinks. "Internal Affairs haven't told you what's happening?"

She folds in on herself. "I know I shouldn't ask but—"

He rubs his hand across his face. He ignores the resulting stabs of pain. Everyone knows Noelani works closely with Five 0. They should never have pulled her onto the case in the first place but now she's involved, the least they can do is tell her the truth.

"There's one more person we know about. Sean MacCormac. IA reached out to his family last night through other channels," he explains. "He's the brother of Michael MacCormac. SWAT." He looks back at the morgue. "After what happened they've decided to keep everything low key. They haven't arrested Michael." It's the first time in his life he's felt grateful to IA.

"Are there others?"

_God, I hope not._ "Honestly? We don't know. According to the Governor they agreed to hand over 'their hostages'."

"But we don't know how many…" She trails off, looking at her watch. "I'll talk to Forensics, find out if there's anything else they need. And you, you have to eat," she adds, her expression surprisingly stern through her glasses. "Promise me you'll do that."

Just the idea of eating is enough to make him feel nauseous. But there's a underlying note of desperation in her tone that makes him nod. As he turns to leave she pulls him into a quick hug. He hugs back, grateful beyond words for her touch.

On the drive back to the Palace, Lou turns on the sirens and runs every red light. Jerry raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees them: they've almost broken Steve's record for the time it takes to make it across town.

Jerry isn't distracted for long though. Tapping furiously, he brings a map up on the screen. It's the coastline of Oahu. The place where Eduardo Ignacio washed up is marked with a red dot. A circle is radiating out from it.

"This is the area that the boat must have been in when Ignacio's body was thrown overboard," Jerry explains, as Junior and Tani join them at the desk.

"That still looks awfully big," Lou says, voicing what the rest of them are thinking.

Jerry presses more keys. "The Coastguard and the Navy checked their satellite records for that period of time." A handful of flashing dots appear on the map. "These are the boats that were in the area at that time."

Danny's stepping back before he realises it. Beside him, Junior's doing the same. "We need to get out there and start talking to people—"

Jerry nods. He starts tapping again. "The Coastguard are already on it." A list of names come up on the screen. "They're tracking down every boat and hailing it, under the guise of carrying out standard immigration checks."

Danny checks the time on the screen. They've only got five hours left. "That's gonna take too long. We need to shorten that list for them—"

"Already on it," Tani cuts in before he can finish. "That's what we were doing when you came in."

"So why are we are standing here?" Danny flicks the strap of his sling off his shoulder. Cautiously, he pulls his arm out. His fingers are still working, even if his arm isn't. "Give me some of those names."

It says something, he thinks, for Steve's training and his ability to pick a good team when no one argues, despite his short tone of voice. They peel off to their respective work stations. Instinctively he heads for Steve's office.

Eddie crawls out from his space under Steve's desk. He approaches slowly, his tail barely wagging. Danny kneels down to pat him. Eddie sniffs him half-heartedly before crawling back into his hiding space.

Danny's body twinges in sympathy with Eddie as he stands back up. Huffing, he retrieves Steve's laptop from the desk and retreats to the couch. It's covered in pillows and blankets. Pushing them to aside he stretches out on the couch and settles down to work.

Forty minutes later, he pushes the laptop away. Rubbing at his forehead, he closes his eyes. From his list of five boats he's managed to eliminate two of them. With more time he's pretty sure he could eliminate at least one more. Opening his eyes he looks at the records again, squinting as the screen phases in and out of focus. His gut feeling is this isn't the boat they're looking for. But a small voice in his head keeps asking 'What if this is _the _one?'

Looking at his watch – Steve's watch – sends a shudder through his body. They've got just over four hours left. Assuming that at some point Steve and any other hostages have to be taken off the boat before the exchange means they've got even less time than that.

_Shit._

Pulling the laptop towards him, he starts scrolling again. A glance out into the main office shows Jerry doing the same thing, Lou standing alongside. Between the five of them they've eliminated a third of the boats on the list. But the Coastguard have only tracked down half of those left.

They're almost out of time.

He curls up his fingers as they start shaking. Cursing under his breath, he forces them to work. Eddie peeks out from underneath the desk. Letting out a whine, he comes to sit by his side. He noses worriedly at his fingers, wiggling his way under his hand.

He takes the hint, stroking Eddie on the head like he wants. "I know," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "I should have checked the alarm. I keep thinking about that, you know? If I'd checked then we would have got a warning, maybe…um…maybe I could have got to Steve's spare gun and—"

"You weren't the one who left the alarm switched off, Danny."

His head snaps up. Anger flares in his heart. Lou's standing in the doorway, sympathy written across his face. "You saying this is _Steve's _fault?"

Lou face twists in pain. "No. No. Of course not. It's just…have you thought about why he left the alarm off?"

He shakes his head as Lou pulls up a chair next to him. Sure, he's thought about it. Briefly. But right now he's not sure he's got anything civil to say.

"Maybe…it's because he felt safe."

"What?"

"What he did, that's what normal folks do, Danny. _Normal_ folks."

He allows himself a ghost of a smile. Underneath his craving for action, Steve's always wanted a normal, family life. The thought that he's managed to help Steve have that, even in their short time together, it eases the pain in his heart, just a little.

The moment is short-lived. He rubs at his eyes as the reality of their current situation follows fast on its heels. "We're running out of time, Lou."

Lou shifts his seat closer. "We're still looking, okay? Everyone's looking. It's not over yet. You know that. We've been here before—"

"I know that but—"

"We can do this. We _will_ do this."

"Lou—"

"It's gonna be okay. You gotta believe that."

"We should be out there."

"Danny—"

"We should be _out_ there." He doesn't realise he's shouted until Lou recoils in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jerry looking too. "Sorry." He rubs his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, man."

"I know." Lou's leaning in close, his elbows resting on his knees. "I know. Believe me, I wanna be out there too. But the Governor's got the best people she can on this. You saw them at the meeting this morning."

He rubs his fingers over the cast on his arm. The skin underneath is itching like mad. Lou's right: most of the people at the meeting that morning hadn't introduced themselves but he knows FBI agents when he sees them. A couple of the others definitely looked like Navy.

Steve would have loved to be there to kick their asses.

He's about to explain that to Lou, to ease the deep worry on his face. Before he can, Jerry bursts through the door, his cheeks pink with excitement.

"The Coast Guard just called," he blurts, his words tumbling over each other. "One of the boats they hailed, they were partying until three this morning—"

"—I don't see what this—"

"—they were drunk," Jerry continues, ignoring Lou's interruption, "super drunk, so they didn't remember until they spoke to the Coastguard this morning that they'd seen two men arguing on another boat last night—"

"—Please tell me this story has an end, Jer—"

Jerry stops long enough to drag in a lungful of air. "It was getting dark and the other boat was a distance away but the argument sounded heated so they filmed it."

"Jerry—"

"They were wearing white shirts and blue shorts."

Silence.

Danny clears his throat. He can hear his heart beating. His breaths are coming short and sharp. "Are they sure?"

Jerry nods. "The Coast Guard crew watched the video." He's got a white-knuckled grip on the door handle. "They captured the name of the boat too. They've called it in to the Governor."

Danny swings his feet off the couch. The laptop clatters to the floor. He ignores it, already heading for the main office. He glances at his watch. They've got less than four hours left. "We need to call her. It's still daylight. If they go in now they'll kill everyone." _They'll kill Steve._

Jerry steps out of the way but his way is instantly blocked again. This time it's Junior, with Tani close behind him. He looks deadly serious. "I just got a call from a friend at Pearl Hickham. SEAL Team Six have been activated…"

H50H50H50

Steve's woken up by a boot making contact with his ribs.

He groans.

Hands grab him, roughly. Fingers dig into bruised skin. "Wake the fuck up, McGarrett."

He tries to focus on the voice that's calling him. It's like trying to swim to the surface after a deep dive. Hands grab him, trying to pull him up from where he's lying. The world spins. The taste of bile fills his throat. Shivering, he tries to get his feet under him. Too late he remembers the shackles He pitches forward, falling to his knees. His vision wavers as everything spins again.

There's nothing in his stomach to expel but it tries anyway. His muscles protest at the violent activity. Sweat beads slide down his face. Exhausted, he lists sideways, his eyes drifting closed. The sound of laughter fills his ears. It's a cruel, ugly sound.

Suddenly, it breaks off.

"Shit. He's sweating."

"Why the hell do you care?"

"Why the hell do I care? Really? Look at him. He's sick. We're supposed to deliver this guy to the Governor of Hawaii and—"

"Oh, come on, Casey. We all know that ain't gonna happen."

"What we know, don't make any difference. The boss is paying us to do as we're told. McGarrett dies before the exchange, you and I, we aren't going to get paid."

"This guy, he killed our friends. You forgotten that?"

"I haven't forgotten anything."

Steve groans as he's grabbed roughly and shoved to the other side of his cell. He can't control his fall: he hits the floor, hard. Survival instinct and years of training take over anyway. Reaching out, he finds bare flesh. Digging in his fingers, he applies pressure. Someone grunts with pain. Instinctively he tightens his grip. His head's spinning, he's not sure which way is up but under his fingertips he can feel the man's heart beat. It falters: his own heart surges with angry satisfaction. Grunting with effort he digs in even deeper.

The men in front of him are dark shadows, silhouetted against the light in the doorway. So he doesn't see the punch coming until the last second, until it's a black blur right in front of his face. It's like his body's frozen in time then the punch hits: his head flies back and he loosens his grip.

He tries to swing a punch of his own. His arm's shaking though, weighed down by the shackles. When he makes contact with something it's just a glancing blow. In return he gets another fist to the chin. This time the back of his head hits the metal floor – hard. He tastes blood as he bites his tongue. Everything's spinning, not quite in focus. A cold flush travels up his body, his heart beat ramps up. He's on the verge of throwing up again.

Rolling on his side, he tries to get his knees under him. His body won't consent. Hands shove him down, a boot connects with his ribs again. Like a broken puppet, he flops to the floor. He's vaguely aware the men are still watching him. He knows he should _do _something, that this could be his one chance to escape. But he's got nothing left, no energy.

Closing his eyes, he listens:

"Fuck it. What the hell was that—"

"I told you not to get too close to him."

"I didn't. All I was doing was leaving the water. Then I thought I'd better check he was still alive."

"Do me a favour, huh? Stop thinking."

"You calling me an idiot?"

"Nope. I'm calling you a dumbass."

"What?"

"Just get the hell out of here—"

"He _strangled_ me—"

"For fuck's sake—"

"Why didn't you just drug him again?"

"Excuse me? Didn't you read the briefing notes?"

"_Briefing _notes?"

"Yeah. The ones that told us to administer double the amount of sedative just before the handover."

"Oh. Those. Yeah, I read 'em. Double the sedative. It's designed to kill. They'll be so busy trying to save these poor bastards they won't have time to chase us or the Boss."

"Correct, Einstein. But we've only got enough of this sedative to deliver the double dose."

"Hey, watch your tone. You ain't the boss of me."

"Thank God…"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Okay. That's it. You and me, we're gonna have words. Get up top before I put a bullet in your head. And don't bother questioning if I'd do it…"

The door slams shut. The cell is thrown into darkness again. The voices fade into the distance, still arguing.

Steve lies still, trying to absorb the latest information. His brain doesn't want to play. It's like trying to put a puzzle together under water and the pieces keep floating away. Annoyed, he slowly manages to sit up. Everything's still spinning, his skin's still flushing hot and cold. But it does mean he can reach the water bottle. His throat's parched, he gulps it down, not caring it's warm and stale.

The water kickstarts his brain. There's going to be a handover. Except there isn't. The Governor's got to know that's a possibility though. She'll have the best people advising her. His team will be there too, he has no doubt about that.

His head jerks up as the puzzle pieces fall into place. Those men, they mentioned something about the sedative. They're going to be drugged, used as a distraction while Anton and his men escape. And the Governor's team – _his_ team – will be sitting ducks.

The image of Danny lying in the hospital bed flicks on in his mind. He sucks in a horrified breath. His team don't know that Danny's being watched. If they're at the handover, Danny will be alone and exposed, in even more danger.

Another shiver racks his body, stronger this time. It jerks at his joints, sending a spike of pain down the back of his neck. He needs to delay the handover. There are going to be teams out looking for him, looking for _them_. He needs to get them more time. Once they're drugged with the extra dose of sedative it'll be over. For him _and_ Danny.

He can't let them happen – to Danny or to Grace and Charlie. He _won't _let that happen.

Dragging himself over to the connecting wall, he taps on it twice. Sagging against it, he listens. All he can hear is the boat's engine running, vibrating through the wall. Tapping again, he waits. There's still no reply but he starts talking anyway: it's going to take both of them to make this work.

Sean answers eventually. Even muffled by the wall, it's clear from his voice that he doesn't believe help is on the way. The news that he needs to fight against being given the sedative is met with even less enthusiasm.

Steve closes his ears against the dejection in Sean's voice. It's understandable. But his own natural reaction to the situation is to keep fighting to the end. He can't do anything else. Even when his mind and body is betraying him.

Fedorov's men were right: he is sick. A small part of him had been hoping it was a side-effect of the sedative and the lack of food. He's been fooling himself. Even with an exhaustion-fogged mind he can see that now.

Confined in total darkness, he's lost track of time. Now though, he's got something else to measure time by. The first symptoms of infection usually take two or three days to show up - and he's fairly sure that's what he's got - an infection.

For someone like him - with a compromised immune system – that's a ticking time-bomb. Infection leads to sepsis. Sepsis leads to organ failure. He needs medical attention, now.

Taking a ragged breath, he taps again. He needs to be talking to someone, anyone. The darkness – and the silence – is closing in on him. He _needs_ his team to find him. _They will, _he mouths silently. Whenever he's been in trouble they've been there, covering his back. They won't give up. Neither will he.

Sitting in the darkness though, it's difficult to hold on to that positive thought. His mind's wandering, a side-effect of the infection fever. He rubs at his face, his palm catching on his whiskers. Danny's gonna have something to say about those, he thinks vaguely. He's made it clear he's not a fan of the Grizzly Adams look.

_Thank God they didn't put Danny in here_.

The thought forms out of nowhere. His chest constricts, his breath catches. Danny, with his claustrophobia, would never have survived this. It would have _destroyed _him.

_Thank God it was him._

Steve tries to hold onto that feeling of relief as his mind starts drifting again. He grunts with frustration at his lack of control. He has to focus, to be ready for whatever's coming next. But his thoughts are slipping away like sand through his fingers.

'_Carters behind the plate. Santana's playing short stop. Knights on third...__'_

He nods at the memory, at the gentle prompt his mind is giving him. Back then, when they'd been trapped under the collapsed building, Danny had shown incredible courage. It had been the catalyst, the first moment he'd actually admitted his growing feelings for Danny.

Four years ago. He'd wasted so much time.

The feeling of regret threatens to smother him, to drag him into the dark corners of his mind. Like Danny, he needs a relaxation technique. The '86 Mets line up is still a mystery to him though – despite Danny's best efforts he's not going to be reciting baseball statistics any time soon. Shifting to ease his cramped muscles, he tries to get as comfortable as he can. Then, taking a deep breath, he starts reciting some statistics of his own:

"SIG Sauer P226, 9mm semi-automatic, barrel length 4.4 inches, weight 34 oz, effective up to a range of…".

H50H50H50

Danny stuffs his hand in his pocket. Steve's watch on his wrist feels like a dead weight. Pacing to the end of the main office, he turns again. Beside him, Eddie turns too.

Next to the computer desk the team have pulled up chairs into a half-circle. There are coffee cups and empty candy wrappers on the floor around them. It looks like a surreal indoor picnic gone wrong.

Lou looks up, following his progress as he and Eddie start another lap of the office. Jerry's busy swiping through screens on his phone. Tani and Junior are in Tani's office. Junior's trying to get information from Pearl Hickham. Tani's gone in to calm him down.

Danny checks the watch anyway. It's a compulsion he can't resist. It's five minutes since he last looked. It's two hours and fifty-one minutes since SEAL Team Six were activated.

It's less than an hour to the handover.

Teeth gritted, he turns again. His body is twitching with unspent energy and frustration. Lack of control in a situation like this is his worst nightmare. It's eating him up inside.

He's spoken to the Governor. She confirmed a rescue mission has been authorised. She'd asked him if he wanted to join her at Pearl Hickham. But looking out from Steve's office, at his friends, the decision had been simple. He wanted to be here, at the heart of what Steve's created. He needed to be here with his Ohana.

Right now though, several hours later, his head is telling him that was a bad decision. At Pearl at least he would have known what was happening. He would have gained back some of the control he's craving. Shaking his head, he snorts with derision at his own brain. He's been there before with Steve – in Afghanistan. Watching from an Operations Room hadn't been any easier, it still hadn't prepared him for the sight of Steve been stretchered off that helo.

The mental image stops him in his tracks. Eddie bumps into his legs. It's enough to dislodge the memory. He starts pacing again.

Watching Steve coming off that helo had been one of the worse moments of his life. He'd thought Steve's luck had finally run out. Keeping watch over him in the infirmary had been a defining moment in his life. It was the first time he'd thought maybe – _maybe_ – his love for Steve wasn't purely platonic.

It had been another four years before he'd done anything about it. Four years of wondering. Four years of heart ache. Why the hell had it taken them both so long?

He knows the answer to that question. Fear. They'd been scared of hurting each other. In the end it hadn't been Steve he'd confessed his feelings to first. It was Lou, one night over beers. Lou had pointed out what he'd been trying to deny: Steve would never take that final step. If he – Danny – wanted it, he was going to have push the giant dork he'd fallen in love with over the edge.

Operation Tuxedo had been planned that night:

"_You gotta show him what he's missing," Lou had insisted, in a mock-whisper. Taking a long gulp from his beer bottle, he'd leaned in closer. "You've gotta show him the goods."_

_Danny coughed. His own beer had just gone up his nose. "The goods?" He'd looked down at his crotch. "I should show him the _goods?"

"No. _No." Lou had looked horrified. "Not like that. Jesus. I meant…you're a good looking guy. Steve's not the only one who spends way too much time in the gym." He'd grinned – a huge grin, all teeth. "You gotta make him jealous."_

_Even after one beer too many Danny had doubted his friend's advice. "That's a dumb idea, Lou. The dumbest. That's never gonna work. Every time I talk about starting a new relationship, he encourages me." Feeling more morose than ever, he'd taken a long draught of his own beer. Lowering the bottle, he'd sighed. "Maybe I am just imagining things." _

"_No." Lou waved his beer bottle in the air. He was starting to slur his words. "No. He's got it bad for you, man. Real bad. He's just too stupid to do anything about it."_

"_Really?"_

"Really." _Lou had leaned in even closer. "This is what you gotta do…"_

Blinking, Danny drags himself back to the present. A rush of emotion hits him. It sticks in his throat. When the door to Tani's office opens he averts his face. By the time he turns back again Junior's typing something at the computer desk.

"It's the feed from the Navy satellite," Junior explains as everyone joins him. He zooms in, filling the screen with an image of the sea off the coast of Oahu. Boats are dotted around the screen. "This boat here," Junior explains, pointing at one that is much larger than the rest, "that's where they've got Steve. And this one," he continues, scrolling slightly to the left, is SEAL Team Six."

Lou squints at the screen. "I'm not gonna ask how you got this," he starts, his voice tinged with admiration, "and I don't wanna sound ungrateful, but isn't your SEAL buddies boat a little….small?"

Danny steps up beside Lou. The SEAL boat is tiny, barely visible on the screen. But that's just on satellite. "They're still gonna see it coming." He grabs the edge of the desk. "That isn't going to work."

Junior straightens. "I'm guessing that's a fishing boat." A muscle twitches in his jaw. "It's going too fast to be anything else."

Lou studies the screen, his expression incredulous. "That's the _plan_? They're going up against Fedorov's hit squad in a souped-up bath tub?"

Junior bristles. His eyebrows travel up his face. ""Fedorov's men won't be expecting a fishing boat. It's fast, manoeuvrable. It's an operationally sound plan."

Danny rests his hand on Junior's shoulder. He squeezes gently. "Oh, great. It sounds like something Steve would do."

He's injected his voice with sarcasm. It has the desired effect. Lou snorts under his breath. Tani shakes her head. Junior relaxes slightly. Jerry's too busy looking at the screen.

"They're moving," Jerry breaks into the tense silence. "Fedorov's boat. They're making a run for it."

Danny tells himself to breathe as his stomach roils with panic. He glances at Steve's watch. "No they're not," he says, pointing at the screen. "Look. They're heading towards the coast."

"The handover," Lou breathes, reading his mind. "They need to get off the boat."

Junior taps the screen again. He zooms out just enough to get both boats on the screen. Fedorov's boat is moving. But the SEAL boat is faster. It's changed direction, moving to intercept. "Nobody's getting off that boat," Junior announces, his eyes hard as he stares at the screen. "Not unless it's Steve or Sean MacCormack."

In silence they watch the screen. No one moves. Even Eddie's sitting quietly, leaning against Danny's leg. When the door to the main office opens, they all flinch. Collectively they let a breath out as they realise it's Noelani. They make space for her at the desk, then close up ranks again.

Jerry quietly explains to Noelani what's happening. Danny zones them out. All he cares about is what's happening on the screen. He's got Lou standing on one side of him, Junior's on the other side. No matter what happens in the next hour, he knows they won't let him fall.

To be continued…


	7. Chapter 7

H50H50H50

**83 days**

Steve opens his eyes. His heart's beating so fast it feels like it'll burst out of his chest. His body aches – god it _aches. _His shoulder blades feel raw, like they're rubbing against the metal wall that he's leaning against. He can't feel his legs at all.

It's still pitch black in his prison. But something's _changed. _The chains from his shackles rattle as he brings his hand up to his face. He rubs at his face vigorously, trying to bring himself round. Staying awake has proved impossible as the infection takes hold. He's been dozing, hunched up against the bulwark.

_You've been waiting_.

His mind is yelling the words at him. If it could, it would be waving red flags at him. He's frowns, trying to think. Whatever he was waiting for, it was clearly urgent. He just wishes he could remember what it was.

Reaching out, he feels around for the water bottle. He's just wrapping his fingers around it when there's a noise outside. He freezes. The bottle tips over as he scrabbles upright. Spikes of pain shoot up his legs as he tries to move them.

The sound outside morphs into footsteps. Soft, muffled. His mind tries to grab onto a thought but it keeps floating out of reach. His palms are sweating. He rubs them against his shorts.

'_What was he waiting for?'_

The footsteps stop. He holds his breath. Any second now the door will open. He'll be blinded by the light. His instinct to fight is stirring. The shackles rattle as his body shivers from head to toe.

_Danny. They're gonna kill Danny if he fights back_.

Sucking in a breath, he forces his throat to work. He can't let them take Danny. They took his Dad. He can't let that happen again. His chest constricts at a sudden rush of emotion. Shaking, he sucks in another breath.

The footsteps stop. The only thing he can hear is his blood rushing in his ears. His heart beats, counting out the seconds. His body is wracked by another shiver. Gritting his teeth, he strains to listen.

Nothing. He was imagining it. There's nothing there at all.

He slumps against the bulkhead. Cold from the metal wall seeps through his tee-shirt. His legs are tingling with pins and needles. The only blessing is he can no longer feel the shackles cutting into the flesh around his ankles.

Spent after the sudden spurt of energy, he closes his eyes. There's still something bugging him. But his thoughts are too vague to grab hold of.

The door suddenly swings open. Surprised, his eyes fly open. The flash of light he's stealing himself against doesn't happen. Instead, there's one pinprick of light. It tracks across the walls, a line of white light cutting through the darkness. It's slides across his face, making him flinch. It carries on, pauses, swings back.

Turning his head, he tries to avoid it. It's then that he remembers what the hell it was he was waiting for.

_The sedative. Don't let them give you the sedative._

It's an order he can't ignore. His hands flex without any obvious instruction. He wraps his fingers around the chains. Pulling in the slack, he tenses his muscles. He's going to fight until there's no breath left in his body. These bastards, they aren't going to get to Danny.

The pinpoint of white light travels down his body. Travelling back up, it settles at a point just above his shoulder. Gradually it gets bigger. There's someone behind it, they're advancing into his cell. He still can't hear footsteps: it's strange how quiet they are. It's like the shadows are detaching from the walls and coming for him, like dark fingers of death reaching out.

Sweat's beading on his forehead. He can feel it sticking to his eyelashes. The chains rattle as he tightens his grip. Beyond the light the first shadow's reforming. It's a man. The light is from his gun.

Steve lunges, throwing all his body weight forwards. Swinging the chains, he wraps one around the man's neck. Head spinning, he grabs for it with his other hand, trying to pull it into a noose. His hand slips, his fingers too weak and sweaty to get purchase. He tries again, yelling his defiance as he fights to grab hold in the dark.

The intruder goes down under him. The pin point of light shoots up the wall. Steve swings his leg over the top of him, trying to tackle him to the floor. The fever has other ideas though. The world spins again, making him lose his balance. The chains around his ankles trip him up. With no way of knowing which way up is, he tumbles off the intruder onto the floor.

Hands grab him, trying to turn him over. His neck will be exposed. Adrenaline kicks in, mixing with the fever. Time slows down and speeds up at the same time. The world feels like it's phasing in and out. Grabbing the intruder's wrist he's pulls up and backwards. He can feel bones beneath flesh.

"Shit. McGarrett. Calm the fuck down."

Steve doesn't register the hissed warning. His mind has fixed on another sound instead. Next door, in the other cell, there's shouting. It's loud. They're running out of time. The hands are grabbing again, pinning his arm behind his back. Bending his knee he tries to get it under him, get leverage. When that fails, he heaves with his shoulders instead.

"McGarrett. Steve. We're here to help you. Just let me…damn it…someone get in here …need help…"

The intruder lets out a surprised wuff of air. Steve pushes home his advantage. Digging his shoulder in he pushes the intruder backwards, like he's back on the football ground. They both hit the back wall, hard. For a second they falter as their bodies absorb the impact. Then they're both sliding to the floor.

Steve gulps in air. His chest is heaving. His ears are ringing so loud. His body's shaking with exertion. His arms are as heavy as lead. With a last yell of desperation he grabs at the intruder. Down on the floor, in the half-darkness, he can't tell what he's got hold of. But the intruder jerks back, curling away from him. Drawing on every last ounce of strength, Steve dives in again. Now it's the intruder who's swearing as they lock together in a knot of arms and legs.

_Danny. Not Danny_.

"What the hell is going on in here…Shit. Commander. Listen to me. We don't want to hurt you…"

"Owww…get him... off me…"

"I'm trying. Shit. Grab his arms…"

The cell is suddenly flooded with bright light. Steve groans as pain spikes through his head. His eyes automatically close, eliminating the irritation. The world's spinning out of control, making his stomach roil. He tries to hold on but hands are pulling at him. He's being dragged backwards, until he's sitting up, bundled up against the wall. Someone's leaning against his chest, pinning him back. He struggles, someone curses, but he's got nothing left.

_He's failed._

"Steve. Can you hear me? Open your eyes, buddy."

The use of his first name is new. Despite himself, he opens his eyes. He flinches as a hand touches him It's just above his eyebrows. His eyes adjust as the bright light is suddenly blocked out.

"There you go. Better?"

"I don't think he's firing on all cylinders, boss."

"No." Another hand touches him, at his pulse point under his chin. He flinches. Even his skin is aching. "Damn. His heart rate is elevated. He's burning up…."

There's more talking. Voices are raised. Someone yells something from the corridor. There's a sense of urgency in the air.

Steve blinks, trying to focus. Nothing looks right. The man knelt in front of him is wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and chino cut-offs. The other man beside him is wearing an 'Aloha' tee-shirt and jeans. If he wasn't talking rapidly into a radio, an assault rifle resting across his knees, he'd look like a tourist.

_He's got a radio._

For a second, just a split second, that makes sense. His body starts to relax. Then the thought floats away from him and the residual adrenaline kicks back in. He shifts, tugging at his chains again. The world tilts as vertigo kicks in. He tastes bile. Too late, he realises he's going to throw up.

There's more cursing as he vomits. There's more yelling about bolt cutters and helo evacs. He's oblivious though as his body collapses in on itself. Hands hold him up as his stomach cramps. There's another voice, softer. Someone wipes something cool across his face.

They lift him, slinging his arms over their shoulders. Like before, when they'd put him on the boat, he's hopeless to resist. Anger briefly flares deep inside him. A bone-deep sense of failure is close behind. His heart feels like it's being crushed. He's failed Danny. It doesn't matter what they do to him now.

Everything's starting to blur around the edges. He stumbles as he's manoeuvred out of his cell. The first breath of fresh air registers on his senses. So does the change in temperature: he shivers at the sudden warmth. There are steps, he feels like he's floating up them. At the top, his leg bumps into something, it looks like someone curled up on the deck. He groans, as pain shoots through his aching joints.

"You're okay. Nearly there," someone says, right next to his ear. "Hang in there, Commander. You've got this."

Further away, there's someone else yelling instructions. He zones them out. Nothing they're saying makes sense anymore. He can smell the sea, hear the waves, feel the sun on his skin and that doesn't makes sense either. He feels detached from his body. All control is gone.

Closing his eyes, he sinks down into his mind. Danny's there, waiting for him. Dressed in a faded tee-shirt and frayed sweatpants he's standing at the cooker, flipping pancakes. His welcoming grin is soft, fond, so full of love. Wrapping his arms around Danny's shoulders he pulls him towards him, until his back is tucked up against his chest. He feels warm, alive, so real, so _Danny. _There's no place else he'd rather be.

H50H50H50

**83 days **

"_They've got them. They're being transferred to Queen's Medical."_

Danny's already moving as Jerry taps the computer table, cutting off the Governor's call. Bolting for the exit he pushes through the door. The sound of running feet follow him as he heads down the corridor.

By the time he gets to the head of main staircase in the Palace, Junior has caught him up. Tani and Lou are not far behind. He takes the steps two at a time, Junior right beside him. Clearing the last two steps in one bound he runs for the main doors. When Duke steps out in front of him he comes to a skidding halt, almost losing his footing.

"They've got them," he bursts out, arms flailing as he tries to get past Duke. "Queen's Medical. Steve. We've got to get there."

Duke's faces morphs from confused to hopeful in a second. Then he frowns. "There's been a three car pile-up on Beretania," he explains, waving back at the main doors. "Traffic's backed up to Queen's Medical."

Danny's brain spins. Queen's Medical is only two blocks away but right now that feels like the other side of the world. Junior's ahead of him though – tugging on his arm he pulls him towards the rear entrance of the building.

"We'll catch you up," Lou yells but Junior's already dragging Danny through the rear exit door and outside.

Instantly he misses the air conditioning. It's midday in downtown Honolulu. It's hot, busy and noisy. Drivers caught in the traffic snarl-up are beeping their horns. It's chaos.

They start running. Within minutes his tee-shirt is sticking to his skin. Focused on Steve, on the rescue, he'd forgotten about the concussion but it's impossible to ignore now. Every time his feet hit the sidewalk his brain feels like it's jolting inside his skull. Trying not to collide into pedestrians or knock his injured arm isn't helping either. Gritting his teeth he digs deep and keeps going, trying to ignore the heat that's seeping up through his shoes from the sidewalk.

It crosses his mind to pull out his gun and start waving it. It feels like something Steve would do. It's not needed. Junior starts yelling at the top of his voice, scaring the hell out of everyone who gets in their way. The crowds part in a V-shape in front of them, only too happy to get out of the way of the madmen in their midst.

Danny's heart sinks as they reach the corner and turn left. There are more crowds, more vehicles, as far as the eye can see. Junior doubles his efforts but his voice is getting lost in the mayhem. Growling with frustration Danny dodges another group of tourists. He needs to see Steve – _now_.

Diving off the sidewalk, they start weaving through the stationary traffic. A taxi driver yells at them from his open window when them bump into the trunk of his car. Junior thumps the hood for good measure, earning them another curse.

Gradually Danny becomes aware of another sound. His breath catches in his throat – it's the deep thud, thud, thud of a chopper. He's not the only one who looks up as a black military helicopter appears from behind an office building. Whipping up dust in its downdraught it flies over the street. He has a second to register 'US Navy' written on the side of it before it's peeling away, disappearing in the direction of Queen's Medical.

Around him people are still looking at where the chopper went, some of them pointing at the sky. Queen's has a helipad on the roof. It's not unusual to see choppers flying in but they only come in this low for dire emergencies.

"Junes…"

Junior looks back over his shoulder at him. His expression screams determination. "We're nearly there."

Danny wants to argue: they've got another block to go. His arm and head are aching like a son-of-a-bitch and he needs to be there, _now_. Junior gestures – a sharp jerk of the thumb – and they're heading up an alleyway Danny's never seen before.

Junior knows where he's going. A few minutes later they're jogging across the parking lot of Queen's Medical. Danny shivers as the doors to the building slide open and they step through to air-conditioned air. His tee-shirt feels damp against his skin as his chest heaves and his lungs drag in oxygen.

"This way," Junior says unnecessarily but Danny's grateful for his steadying hand. The Emergency Room at Queen's Medical is always busy but now there's an extra level of tension in the air. His body's responding to it, he stumbles over his feet, suddenly light-headed.

He shakes off Junior as he tries to lead him to a seat. The staff on the admissions desk eye him warily as he approaches with Junior: both of them are still armed. Raking his hand over his hair he brushes it back from his eyes and explains why they are there. Their expressions turn from wary to downright suspicious.

He's got no time for their questions. Striding past the desk he heads for the treatment cubicles. Steve's back here somewhere. Voices yell at him. telling him to stop. Cupping his injured arm protectively in front of him, he speeds up. He's been here more times than he can remember. He doesn't need their help.

Turning a corner he slams into someone coming the other way. He takes a side-step. The stranger moves with him. Anger growing, he puts his hand out to push him away. His hand comes into contact with a wall of muscle…and light-weight body armour.

Stepping back, Danny reaches for his gun. The man in front of him is in his mid-thirties, tall, well-built. Dressed in a brightly printed Hawaiian shirt and cut-off chinos he looks like a tourist - apart from the armour and the outline of the revolver he has holstered under his shirt. He's not going for his gun but his hands are coming up, ready to attack and…

"Ben?" Junior's come up behind them. His gun is half-drawn. Frowning he lowers it. "What you doing here?"

Ben glances at them in turn. "Working."

"Oh." Understanding dawns on Junior's face.

Danny jams his gun back in his holster. He's ready to burst with anger. This reunion – or whatever the hell else this is – can wait.

It's Junior who stops him this time, his hand clamping on his shoulder. "Danny. Ben's a member of SEAL Team Six." His voice drops lower as he looks around them. "He's their medic."

Ben raises his eyebrows. "Danny? You're Danny?" Not waiting for an answer, he turns and jogs back down the corridor.

Danny shrugs off Junior's hand to follow him. If he's SEAL Team Six he knows where Steve is.

"Wait." Junior's holding his shoulder again, a tighter grip this time. "If they're still here it means they've got orders to secure the area."

_The Governor's still not taking any chances. _Danny wrenches his shoulder away. "Screw this. Steve's in there."

He almost makes it to the cubicles before Ben reappears. This time he's got someone else with him and this person is wearing black combat gear from head to toe. Danny recognises it – Steve's got an identical set stored in the basement.

"Detective Williams?" the second man asks, scowling.

"The same," Danny answers, not slowing up.

"We'll let you in," the second man answers, stepping to one side. "O_nly_ you," he adds, turning his attention to Junior who's right behind him and glaring back. "Everyone else needs to wait out here."

Junior meets Danny's eyes. Moving to one side of the corridor he takes up a position where he has a clear view of everyone coming and going. Danny nods back: Steve will rest better knowing Junior's out here, covering their backs.

"This is Lieutenant Barker," Ben explains, gesturing to his companion as they start walking again. "He's the leader of SEAL Team Six."

Danny experiences a brief pang of guilt. He'd been short with these people who've helped Steve. It's only brief – nodding his thanks he cuts to the chase. "How's Steve?"

"He's been asking for you," the Lieutenant reports, as they move briskly past another 'guard' dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. "Hopefully he'll calm down once he knows you're here."

Danny frowns. "Calm down? Why, what's wrong-"

"He's got an infection," Ben reports, gently guiding him down another corridor. "Added to that it looks like they've been given some sort of sedative. He's disorientated and—"

"An infection?" Danny grabs Ben, stopping him in his tracks. "You've seen his medical notes, right? He takes immuno-suppressants. They—"

"They were included in our briefing." Ben removes his hand, his expression sympathetic.

"They've got his notes here too," the Lieutenant adds, gesturing to get them both moving again. "I checked."

Danny swallows hard. "Thanks," he manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I just…"

He trails off as the Lieutenant herds them into a side room. It's busy inside, with a buzz of orderly efficiency. But the only thing he sees is Steve lying on the bed.

"Talk to him," Ben says from somewhere beside him but Danny doesn't need prompting. He's already moving, weaving his way through everyone until he's just inches from the bed.

It's only been just over two days since he last saw Steve but it feels so much longer. Steve looks nothing like he'd looked on Sunday. He's battered, bruised and dirty. There are dressings on his wrists and ankles, blood starting to seep through. He'd been expecting the wounds from the shackles but the sight still turns his stomach, anger flaring in his chest. Worse though, Steve's only semi-conscious. He's restless in the bed, his eyelids twitching as he reaches out blindly for something only he can see. Around them the medical team are struggling to keep Steve still.

Danny wants to touch so much but he's reluctant. Every inch of Steve looks like it hurts. When a nurse guides him to the head of the bed he catches on quickly. Grateful, he leans forward to stroke his knuckles along Steve's cheek.

The relief he feels at the first touch is enormous, almost overwhelming. They'd been moments when he'd thought he'd never get to experience this again. Elation rapidly turns into worry. Steve's skin is bristly – his beard is already growing in – but he can still feel that underneath his skin is sweaty and hot to the touch.

"Shhh, babe," he says softly, leaning in close to Steve's ear. "You're safe. You hear me? We've got you."

Steve stills: his eyelids are still flickering but his struggles have ceased. Relieved, Danny looks up but he can tell by the faces and activity around him that something else is wrong.

"His temperature's still rising," Ben says quietly, from his guard post behind him. "Keep talking to him, Danny. He needs to hear your voice."

For a second panic makes his mind go blank. He has no idea what to say. Over the last few days there's been so many things he's wanted to say to Steve, all the things he hadn't got round to sharing yet. It doesn't feel right sharing them in the middle of an Emergency Room. Instead, he speaks from the heart:

"I love you. You hear that? I love you. I've got nothing without you. Don't give up now, babe."

To be continued…


	8. Chapter 8

H50H50H50

"_Commander. Glad you could make it."_

_Turning, Steve dredges up a smile for the Governor. It's her party. She's his boss. It's the polite thing to do. But he really wishes he was somewhere else._

_It's not just that he doesn't like socialising at formal occasions. He's attended plenty of events for the Navy too. It's part of the job. It's the fact that he's alone in the middle of a room full of couples. It's a lonely place to be._

"_Detective Williams not joining us?" the Governor asks, pinpointing the source of unhappiness with unerring accuracy. "I'm sure he was on the guest list."_

_He flashes an apologetic smile. "Family emergency," he lies. It sounds better than 'I was an ass to Danny so he didn't want to come with me.'_

"_Ah."_

_Steve's not sure what 'Ah' means. It doesn't sound good. He's saved from finding out when the Governor's Personal Assistant interrupts. He waves away the Governor's apologies as she turns to leave. He hopes the relief he's feeling isn't showing on his face._

_Nabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter he heads for the safety of the gardens. His passage through the crowd earns him a few nods of acknowledgement. He can feel eyes following his progress – he's not stupid, he knows he looks good in his tux – but he ignores them. There's only one person he's really interested in and he's not here tonight._

_Outside it's much quieter. Popping open the top button of his shirt, he loosens his bow-tie. Slipping his hand under his jacket he rubs at his chest and exhales slowly. There's an ache in his heart that's always with him. But tonight it hurts more. _

_He'd kinda been looking forward to this party. It would have been an evening out with Danny. But no, he had to be a jerk. _

_It happened three days before. He'd been sitting in his office with Danny. They didn't have a case. They'd been bored. He'd suggested to Danny that maybe they should have a BBQ at his place that evening. Everyone was invited. Including partners._

"Give Melissa a call," he'd prompted, getting out of his chair. "I'll tell Lou to call Renee."

Danny had pulled a face, half-wince, half-pained smile. "We're um…we're not together anymore."

He'd dropped back into his chair, surprised. "Really?"

"Really."

With hindsight, it had been the way Danny had been looking at him – so lost, so lonely – that had prompted his reply. "You sure that's a good idea?" he'd asked. "I thought you guys were solid?"

His heart had sunk as Danny's face clouded with sadness. He needs Danny to be happy. "What did you do?" he'd jostled lightly, trying to lift Danny's mood.

Instantly he'd realised his mistake. He'd expected Danny to rant at him, to tell him what an idiot he was. But Danny had sighed instead.

"Is that what you think, huh?" Danny had asked, his tone resigned. "You think I can't hold down a relationship? You think I screwed up?"

"No. No. That's not what I meant—"

"Sure sounded like it," Danny had replied tiredly, getting to his feet.

He'd tried to intercept to him but Danny had pushed past him, heading for the door. "No. Come on, I didn't mean it. You know I talk shit—"

Danny halted at the door. He'd looked back. "Maybe you're right."

The desolation in Danny's eyes had made his breath catch. His heart felt like it was being ripped in two. Helpless, he'd shaken his head. "Why are you asking me, Danny? Huh? Look at me. What the hell do I know about relationships? I've got nothing." _I haven't got you._

Danny had studied him for a moment. He'd looked weary. Then, with a sharp bob of his head, he'd left.

Like an idiot, he'd watched him go. He hadn't told him that Melissa didn't realise how lucky she was to have him. He'd hadn't run after him and told him he loved him. Instead, he'd gone back to his work.

The BBQ never happened. Lou had taken Danny for beers. Instead of a night with his Ohana he'd cleaned out his garage. By the next morning he'd worked out his apology. He'd recited it on the way to work. He'd never got the chance to deliver it though. Danny had seemed…okay. And that had thrown him too.

_Shaking his head, Steve brings himself back to the present. Things between him and Danny have seemed okay since then – apart from Danny's refusal to come to the Governor's Ball. But his behaviour that day, it's been eating away inside him. Wanting to see Danny happy, but wanting it to be him that makes him happy; it's a conflict of interests that's getting harder to live with. Maybe it's time for him to get a job on the mainland, before he says something even more stupid. It would kill him if his own needs destroyed their friendship._

_Glancing at his watch he bites back a sigh. It's gonna be at least another hour before he can get out of here. Despondent, he stares into his champagne. What he really wants is a cold beer and Danny's company. Buying a six-pack of Longboards on the way home sounds like a good idea. He'd have a reason to detour to Danny's, a chance to finally apologise._

_Cutting through the crowd of party goers, he smiles. The night might not be a write-off after all. He's congratulating himself on his forward thinking, when the sound of laughter catches his attention. It's not loud – not over the hum of noise in the room – but it's instantly recognisable. Putting his glass down, he scans the room. _

_A second or two later he spots Danny. The air is punched out of his lungs. There are a lot of good looking people in the room. But Danny still stands out in the crowd. Head thrown back, he's laughing. Standing beside him, a young, tall brunette woman is laughing too._

_Steve takes a shaky breath: anger is welling in his veins. Danny had refused to attend the party with him. But apparently he's come along with a total stranger._

_Pushing through the crowd, he zeroes in on Danny. A few feet away, he stops. It's not by choice: he's suddenly distracted. Danny's always had the power to stop him in his tracks but tonight…he's off the charts._

_Danny always complains he can't get suits that fit him. He needs wide shoulders, slim waist, but short sleeves and legs. Tonight though, tonight his suit fits just fine. In fact it looks like it was made for him. As Danny waves his arms – illustrating something to his new female friend – the suit moves with his body. The black fabric has a slight sheen, emphasising the slide of the fabric across muscle. The length of the jacket means it sits just so over his arse. And his white shirt is contrasting beautifully against his tanned skin._

_Steve sucks in air as his heartbeat rockets. He's had dreams like this but the reality is better. People mistake Danny's short stature for weakness. But in the suit, in the way he's holding himself, there's no mistaking the power of Danny - or his body._

_Steve's powerless to stop a surge of jealously as the woman laughs again. When she rests her hand on Danny's elbow, he sees red. Pushing his way through the rest of the crowd he ignores his mind's call for caution. Danny's his and nobody else's._

_He falters as he comes face to face with Danny. He's already been a jerk once this week, he can't afford to be again. But he's tired and part of him – a large part - is beyond caring. So he says the first thing that comes into his mind:_

"_I thought you weren't coming?"_

_As opening lines go, it's not exactly Shakespeare. Danny freezes, meets his gaze. He doesn't look surprised to see him. Instead, he looks curious. It's disconcerting. Steve shuffles from one foot to the other, not sure what else to say._

_Danny doesn't help him. He shrugs. "I changed my mind."_

_Steve swallows down the hurt he's feeling. "You should have said. I would have sprung for a cab."_

_Danny straightens. The fabric flows over his body, accentuating the width and strength of his shoulders. Looking over at the woman, he grins. "I'm good," he says, as she giggles._

_Steve can feel his blood pressure going through the roof. The woman's high pitched laugh makes him want to wince. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks, teeth gritted. "We won't be long," he adds, quirking his lips at the woman._

_She looks very disappointed. Danny's response is underwhelming too. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, his jerks his chin upwards. "Now?" _

"_Yes, now." Steve reaches out, cupping Danny's elbow. It's almost too much, the feeling of solid muscle under his fingertips._

_Danny sighs - loudly. Apologising to the woman, he lets himself be herded outside. Steve doesn't stop until they're on the far side of the garden of the Governor's Residence. The partygoers' voices in the building have reduced to a warm hum._

_The garden's been lit with torches. They're throwing long shadows. Steve pulls them to a halt just on the edge of a shadow. He wants to be able to see Danny's face. He's not sure if he wants Danny to see his._

"_You wanna tell me what's going on?" he prods as Danny stares up at him, his black tie and white shirt making him look stunningly hot in the half-light. "__You just broke up with Melissa. Isn't this kinda soon?"_

_Danny rolls his bottom lip. He meets Steve's gaze. "You told me breaking up was a bad idea—"_

_Steve cuts him short, with a stab of his hand. "You met her what…five minutes ago?"_

"_So…I can't talk to women now? Is that it? Make your mind up, Steven. You were telling me to stay with her... relationships are good for me, that I shouldn't be alone—"_

"_Not with her, Danny."_

"_Not with her? Or not with anyone?"_

_There's a note that's crept into Danny's voice: it's sending warning bells off in his head. Normally Danny would be angry – he'd have every right to be. Now he sounds…thoughtful. "Forget it, okay. I'm sorry—"_

"_Uh, uh." Danny grabs him as he steps away. "Don't do that. Not now, babe."_

"_I'm not—"_

"_Yeah, you are. You're shutting me out."_

"_Danny—"_

"_Why not her, Steve?"_

"_Let it go—"_

"_I'll let it go if you tell me why you've gone Neanderthal on me—"_

"_Neanderthal?"_

"_You know what I'm talking about."_

"_No I don't—"_

"_Have you got something to say to me?"_

_Steve tugs his arm away. This is getting too dangerous. "Apart from 'goodnight'?"_

"_Steve. Talk to me—"_

"_About what—"_

"_For crying out loud. Tell me why you're jealous."_

_Danny's hissed the words. But they still hang in the air between them, as solid as the stone sculptures dotted around the gardens. Panicked, they both look over their shoulders, back toward the Residence. The party's continuing, oblivious to the tumult of emotions out on the lawn._

_Steve takes a step back, into the shadows. "I don't know what you mean..."_

_Danny huffs. He looks like he's grinding his teeth together. "You don't know what I mean…" Hands on hips, he takes a couple of steps away. Turning, he comes back. "You were jealous back there."_

"_No I wasn't."_

"_You sure about that.?"_

_No. "Yes."_

_Danny stabs a finger in the centre of his chest bone. "You're lying to me."_

_Instinctively he reaches up to grab Danny's finger. Being poked at is stirring up his anger. That's not a good thing. Danny grabs it back, his eyes flashing. They glare at each other in the half light. It's a toss-up which one of them is going to explode first._

"_I didn't lie," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. He's tired, too tired. "I just…I worry, okay? I want you to be happy. You deserve better, that's all." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he slumps back into the shadows. Strictly speaking that wasn't lying. It was more of a half-truth. _

_He can tell by Danny's face he's not buying it. He watches as Danny starts pacing again, his head down. More than anything he wants to sling his arm around Danny's shoulder, tell him everything's going to be alright. But it feels like they're balancing on a precipice. For the second time in a week he feels lost, with no idea what to do._

_When Danny suddenly swings round and marches up to him, he takes an involuntary step back. He feels like he's been sized up for something. His fight instinct kicks in, his heart thudding against his ribs._

"_Do you even know how much this tux cost me?"_

_Steve blinks. "No," he stutters, frowning. "What's that got to do with anything…" The suit's obviously important though for some reason so he tries again. "You look good, Danny. Really good."_

_Danny studies him, his eyes travelling over his face. Then he snorts, not breaking eye contact. "That's the most honest thing you've said to me tonight."_

_Steve stares back at him. Deep down, panic is kicking in. It feels like he's just given away something. Looking around, it occurs to him he has no idea how they got into this. All he wants to do is get the hell out._

_Danny grabs his arm as soon as he makes to move. His fingers are digging in. He could break the grip but they both know he won't do that. But it's the emotion in Danny's face that actually stops him. Danny's begging him. Mutely, he nods._

_Danny tightens his grip. "I'm gonna tell you something...um something I've been wanting to tell you for a long time," he starts, his voice shaky. "You make a joke I'm gonna punch you in the face and never come back. You understand?"_

_He nods mutely again._

"_I um...I um..." Danny falters. He waves his hands. "I..um.. I have feelings for you. You know…like…romantic feelings.__"_

_Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. __He's finding it hard to breathe. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. The grip on his arm loosens. He grabs it, holding on tight. "You do?"_

_Danny's lips quirk up in a half-smile. It's shy and hopeful in equal parts. "God help me, I do."_

"_Oh."_

"_Oh?" Danny tries to pull his hand away. "Jeez... I knew this was a bad idea—"_

"_Danny—"_

"_I'm done—"_

_Danny eels out of his grip. Wrapping his arm around his chest, Steve reels him back in. Danny's chest is heaving, he can feel his heart beating under his hand. He takes a deep breath to confess everything - and nothing comes out. _

_Danny's watching him. Waiting. _

_He takes another breath. "Okay."_

_Danny tilts his head. "Just…okay?"_

_Steve quirks his lips upwards. Danny's voice has got just the right amount of fond in it. His heart skips a beat. "Yeah. Okay."_

"_That's it?"_

_Steve rubs his hand across his face. He's got more. So much more to say. But he's kept the words hidden for so long. And here isn't the right place. _

"_You're right," Danny says, as if reading his mind, "not here."_

_Steve makes a mental note to speak to the Governor the next morning: he can see her watching as Danny grabs his hand and drags him back inside, through the crowd. In fact, they're turning a few heads. For a second, the panic is back again. Then Danny looks back over his shoulder at him and he shivers with excitement. Grinning, he lets himself be led._

"Steve. Can you hear me?"

_Out in the parking lot, they falter. They let go of each other's hands. They stare at each other like two nervous teenagers on a first date. They brought two cars with them. The night wasn't supposed to end like this._

"_Beers at Hula's," Danny suggests._

_Steve clears his throat. That still feels too public. Dressed like this they're not going to blend into any crowd. "How about my place?"_

_Danny looks him up and down. Hands twitching, he steps back. "We need to talk, babe. Neutral territory." He points a warning finger. "No, don't look at me like that."_

_Steve huffs his consent. It sounds like they're negotiating a peace treaty, not discussing how they feel about each other. But the yearning in Danny's eyes matches the ache in his heart. Reluctantly, he lets Danny go._

"Babe. Can you open your eyes for me?"

_They split up, heading for their own cars. He shivers. Frowning, he checks the sky for clouds. It's been warm all day, there's been no drop in temperature. Speeding up, he's relieved when he reaches his truck. Sliding into the cab, he turns on the engine and ramps up the heat. The heating system whines unhappily. It's Hawaii, it's usually turned to cold._

"Steve. Please. I need you to open your eyes for me. You think you can do that?"

_He fumbles the key fob. It drops to the floor. Cursing he leans down to retrieve it. It takes several attempts, his hand is shaking. He's sweating too, he notices, putting his hand to his face. He curses silently. Now would not be a good time to get sick. Danny's waiting for him._

_Leaning back in his seat, he closes his eyes. Just a minute, he thinks vaguely. I'll take just a minute then I'll go._

_Something strokes his cheek._

_Eyes flying open, he rubs at his face. He frowns: his hand's come away clean. He rubs at his face one more time to check. Then he closes his eyes again._

"Steve. Wake up."

That's Danny's voice. Confused, he opens his eyes again. He blinks as his mind short-circuits. Everything's blurry, he can barely see. It's almost dark though. He blinks again, trying to clear his vision. It doesn't work.

"There you are."

It _is _Danny's voice, he didn't imagine it. It's soft, worried. He's dragging his vowels: he's tired. Something strokes his cheek again. Rolling his head, he tries to lean into it. A stabbing pain runs down his neck. Someone groans off in the distance. The stroking stops.

"You're okay, babe. You're safe."

_No, _a voice in his mind screams at him. He blinks at its insistence. Something's not right. He can hear it in Danny's voice. He rolls his head again. Danny's got to be close.

Suddenly, a face appears out of the darkness in front of him. His heart leaps with relief as it recognises Danny. Then, his stomach plummets as Danny comes into focus.

Danny looks _awful_. His vision is still blurred but he can see the bruise down one of his face. And on his forehead…on his forehead he's got a huge cut, that disappears into his hair-line…

His mind flips. There are other, recent memories crowding in. The boat. He was on the boat. The picture. They'd showed him a picture. Oh, Jesus. They've got Danny. He's not in here on his own.

Danny's saying something. But it sounds like it's off in the distance. His mind's spiralling out of control. He tries to reach out, to grab Danny. But he's trapped inside his head. Danny sounds panicked, there are other voices too. He struggles, tries again to reach Danny, to get to him before Fedorov's men do.

Danny's face looms into his vision again. Eyes wide, he looks scared. He wants to tell Danny he loves him, that he's sorry for getting them into this mess. He wants to tell him not to worry, that everything will be okay. But his chest feels constricted. There's no air going into his lungs. His heart's thudding, working to drag oxygen in.

He doesn't remember anything else.

H50H50H50

**83 days**

"Someone give me an update. What we got?"

Danny ignores the question. It's not for him. It's Steve's doctor who's spoken, he's just arrived. As soon as Steve started having trouble breathing his room had filled with medical personnel.

He digs his heels in as one of the medical team gently moves him along a few steps. His hand is wrapped around Steve's. He flexes his fingers carefully to restore circulation. Steve's hand is limp now but moments before he'd had an iron-tight grip. .

Glancing down, Steve's watch catches his eye. He blinks in surprise. It's been six hours since they bought Steve into the hospital. The time's passed in a blur. The medical team have updated him regularly. He's tried to absorb the information but he's exhausted. All he can focus on is that Steve's got an infection. It's his worst nightmare.

"Tell me what's happening." His throat is dry, sucking the life out of his words so that he's barely whispering. The activity around him doesn't stop and he doesn't want it to. He just wants to know what the hell is going on.

When Steve had woken up – finally – his heart had soared. They'd been a second of recognition: Steve's eyes had smiled. Then, in an instant, fear had replaced happiness. Steve's grip on his hand had made his eyes water, it was like he never wanted to let go.

He can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Steve scared. _Really_ scared. But this time he'd looked…terrified.

His own fear is making him feel light-headed. He tries to read the medics' faces, to gauge their level of concern. He'd been so focused on getting Steve back, he hadn't thought about what would happen next. Now the reality is in front of him and it's like riding the roller coaster from hell.

Steve's skin is pale, his lack of colour accentuated by the beard and dark shadows under his eyes. The skin on his torso is dotted with bruises and knife cuts. His hair is matted down, slick with sweat. They've just swapped out a canula for a mask to help his breathing. A nurse is checking the dressings on his wrists and neck but it's the puncture wound on his neck that they're most worried about.

"He's holding his own."

Danny flinches as a hand touches his shoulder. Dragging his eyes away from Steve he turns his attention to the doctor standing next to him. The doctor holds his stare but his eyes are soft, full of understanding.

"There was a spike in his heart-rate," the doctor explains, anticipating his question. "We're not sure why. He's settled again, we'll monitor it. We've given him something to ease his breathing too."

"And his temperature? The infection? You said the next 12 hours would be crucial." He glances over at the machines. Nothing seems to be changing, at least not in a good way.

Doubt flickers across the doctor's face. He hides it as he turns back to Steve. "His temperature's still up. We've got more tests to run. There's a range of antibiotics - we need to find the right combination of medication."

Danny tightens his grip on Steve's hand. It's warm, from the fever. He rubs his thumb over the knuckles. His heart hitches when Steve doesn't respond. "They'll work, right?"

He shakes his head. He already knows the answer. The doctor had talked him through all this not long after Steve had arrived. Steve's chances are good, despite his compromised immune system. He's much fitter than most transplant patients. A few more hours on the boat and things might have been very different. SEAL Team Six had extracted him before sepsis could set it. But the first few hours in the hospital had been touch-and-go anyway.

Licking his lips, he asks the question that he's been too scared to ask up to now. "His liver…it's okay? There's not any gonna be any side-effects?"

The doctor adjusts one of the machines. "We're in contact with his physician. He's monitoring Steve's condition. At the moment his readings are looking good. We're determined to keep them that way."

Relief washes over him as the news sinks in. Heat behind his eyes makes him blink furiously. "He looks more comfortable," he says, more as a distraction than anything else. Out of the dirty tee shirt and shorts he'd been wearing, washed and wrapped in blankets, Steve does look much better. He's calmer too. Or at least he had been until a few minutes ago.

"Mr Williams? Danny?"

Dragging himself back to the present he realises the doctor is waiting for him to respond. He raises his eyebrows instead.

The doctor takes the hint. "I was wondering if you want to take a break? Get yourself a coffee?"

Danny parses the request, reading between the lines. "You want to run more tests?"

"Twenty minutes." The doctor's tone is sympathetic. "We'll look after him for you."

It crosses his mind to refuse. Now he's got Steve back, he doesn't want to let him go.

Reluctantly he places Steve's hand back on the bed. He squeezes it before letting go. Leaning down, he brushes his lips across Steve's temple. His skin feels hot to his touch. Pulling back slightly, he runs his knuckle down Steve's cheek, catching the edge of his bristles. The mask over Steve's face clouds up as he breathes.

Steve's alive. Fedorov's men can't hurt him anymore. He holds onto those thoughts as a nurse leads him outside to the waiting area. He doesn't protest when she tells him to sit down while she gets him a coffee. Choosing a seat where he can see the door to Steve's room, he waits.

Junior's taken Eddie home. Jerry had offered to help. They'd both looked grateful to be doing something when he'd suggested it: everyone's still too wired to rest. Lou's off talking to the Governor and Internal Affairs. Their focus had been on getting Steve and the other hostages back. Now it's focused on making sure Fedorov doesn't get away with this.

Out in the waiting area the overhead lights are much brighter. Danny rubs his eyes, trying to shift the grittiness. They're keeping the lights down in Steve's room: he's sensitive to light. So is Sean MacCormac. He's in another room, two doors down. The rest of the floor is still locked down, with guards at each end. The Governor's still not taking any chances.

Slumping back in his chair, he rests his head against the wall. He's dumped the sling – it was hindering him – but his shoulder is aching like hell. Massaging his shoulder with his good hand, he closes his eyes.

Closing his eyes offers no escape. All he can see in his mind's eye is Steve's face when he'd woken up. He's seen Steve angry, scared, tortured, fighting to stay alive to his breath. But he's never seen him terrified. What the hell had Fedorov's men done to him?

He doesn't have time to think about it. Raised voices make him open his eyes - one of them is Lou's. Squinting, he makes out Lou standing at the far end of the corridor. There's another man with him. He looks vaguely familiar.

He bites back a groan as he gets to his feet. The soles of shoes make scuffing noises as he drags his feet along the corridor. Lou looks over. Guilt flashes across his face.

"Tell me," he sighs, coming to a halt next to Lou. He's just realised who the other guy is: it's Lieutenant Joel Barnes, from Internal Affairs.

Lou nods back towards Steve's room. "How's our boy doing?" he asks, quietly.

"Holding his own." He gestures towards Barnes. "What's he doing here?"

Lou glances over at Barnes and back again. "He was just leaving."

Barnes studies both of them, his face set in stone. His nostrils flare as he takes a step back. "He's right. I was just leaving."

Danny stops him with a wave of his hand. Annoyance is taking a sharp turn towards anger and frustration. He hasn't got time for this. His life is totally fucked anyway. What else could possibly go wrong?

Lou takes a step towards him. "This can wait." There's a pleading note in his voice. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Go back, sit with Steve."

For a second he considers taking Lou's advice. He _needs_ to be back in there with Steve. But Lou looks angry and that in turn upsets him. And it looks like it's Barnes' fault. He turns his attention on the source of problem. "So. What's going on?"

Barnes pulls his phone out of his pocket. He glances at Lou as he swipes through the screens. Lou curls his top lip up, clearly not happy. He paces away, then back again.

"With the other hostages safe, Eduardo Ignacio talked to us," Barnes explains, glancing over at Lou again. Huffing out a breath, he hands his phone to Danny. "He told us how Fedorov's men blackmailed him, how they made him do the things he did to try and keep his brother safe."

Danny takes the phone. He tilts it so he can see the photo on it. Eyes narrowed, he tries to understand what he's looking at it. It's a picture of him, in his hospital bed. "What the he—"

"They told him to send them a photo of you in the hospital." Barnes pauses, looks down at your shoes. "They said…er…they said they were going to show it to the Commander." He looks up again. His eyes are full of regret. "One of the men on the boat had the photo on his phone. We think..we think maybe they were using it to...um…"

Lou steps up beside him. "They think the bastards were using it to threaten Steve. They told him they'd kill you if he didn't co-operate."

Lou's voice is barely above a whisper. Danny still hears him just fine. He tilts the phone one way, then the other. It's strange seeing a picture of himself in that situation. He thought he'd looked bad when he got out of the hospital. Now he can see very clearly how much worse he'd looked when he'd first been admitted.

He chews on his bottom lip as he studies the picture. Even since Steve was taken keeping a check on his emotions has been getting harder. He's been teetering on the edge, just one wrong word away from shattering into a million pieces. He's been holding it together for Steve, for Charlie and Grace, worried that if he cracks he won't make it back.

Looking at the picture, he can't hold on any longer.

A white-hot ball of anger is churning in the pit of his stomach. It's gathering speed, swelling, gradually consuming him. Vaguely he's aware that Lou's still watching him, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. He wants to apologise, to warn his friend what's about to happen but it's too late.

The phone hits the floor with a metallic clatter when he drops it. Grabbing Barnes by the collar of his jacket makes his arm burn with pain. The pain fuels his anger as he shoves Barnes backward, again and again and again. It's not just his pain that's driving him: it's Steve's too. He now understands the cause of Steve's terror. Fedorov had known just where to strike Steve to cause him the most pain.

He wants to inflict that same pain on Fedorov, to make him feel what he's feeling now. He wants him to understand the despair and frustration, to know what it feels like when someone's hurt the person you love. Fedorov's not here though. Barnes is. So he takes it out on Barnes instead.

"Danny. Buddy. Come on. Stop. You're gonna hurt yourself. _Please_."

It's Lou's heartfelt 'please' that brings him back to himself. Panting, he blinks, dragging everything back into focus. Barnes is standing in front of him, his back against the wall. He's holding his hands up in surrender. His jacket is hanging off one shoulder. He's flexing his jaw, as if someone's just punched him in the face.

Barnes steps out of his reach before he can say anything. Straightening his jacket, he leans down to retrieve his phone. As he stands up his eyes meet Danny's. They're full of sympathy. He throws a sharp nod in Lou's direction. Then he walks off.

Danny listens to his footsteps fade. He's frozen to the spot. It's takes an immense effort to move, to rub his face. He stares at his hand stupidly. It's come away wet.

The sobs start slowly. They rapidly gain speed. Stopping them is impossible. His body's heaving, jerking his shoulder painfully with every breath. Then he starts shaking. His knees start to fold.

Lou arms wrap around him, holding him upright. He buries his face in Lou's shirt. Guilt is overwhelming him. His chest feels like it's being turned inside out. Fedorov used him against Steve. Steve's terror is because of _him._

To be continued…


	9. Chapter 9

H50H50H50

**85 days**

"Slowly, Steve. Take it slow."

The voice is warm, safe, familiar. It lures him to consciousness. Being awake is a weird sensation. He feels like he's looking out from someone else's eyes. Cool air is tickling his nostrils. His lips are dry. His eyes feel itchy and crusty. He tries to lift his hand to scratch them.

"Woah. No. Don't do that. They've got you wired up to more machines than the Bionic Man, buddy. You're gonna short-circuit yourself."

Something touches his hand. He turns his head towards it. Narrowing his eyes improves his vision marginally. Gradually, he recognises Lou. He's got questions: he's not sure what they are. Opening his mouth, he works his jaw but his tongue won't co-operate.

"They said you can have water. Just a little."

He sucks a seal around the straw that he's offered. The water's warm, soothing. A drop lands on his lips as the straw's pulled away. Licking at it, he tries again.

"Where—"

"—are you? Queen's Medical," Lou offers, still hovering in his view.

"What…happened?"

Lou's face crumples. "You can't remember?"

Steve shakes his head. He frowns: his head hurts. That's not the right response. He can tell that from Lou's face. Something's niggling at the back of his mind. It's urgent. Everything in his head is confused. He's about to surrender to the tiredness that's calling when a crystal clear image swims into his mind.

"Danny. They've got Danny—"

"They haven't okay?" Lou's looming over him, his voice low and urgent. "He's okay. Gimme a second, I'll show you."

Something beside him is beeping. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a red-flashing light. Suddenly it's blocked from his vision. Lou's standing beside him pressing something on the panel above him. The bed moves, sitting him upright slightly.

Lou taps him on the shoulder. Following Lou's lead he turns his head sideways. A few feet away from his bed there's a pull-out bed. A small reading lamp illuminates it in the gloom of his room. Danny's curled up on the bed, several pillows stacked up around his chest.

Steve turns his eyes back to Lou. He's got no words.

Lou grips his shoulder for a second. "You didn't think I'd let anything happen to your man, did you?"

Steve shakes his head. He winces. Eyes drifting closed, he breathes through the pain.

"Hey. Stay awake for me, Steve. I'll get someone for you—"

"No." Opening his eyes, he tries to smile. His face feels numb. "Is he..he okay?"

Lou follows his gaze. "He's good." He pauses. "He's tuckered out. It's been…um…a long few days."

"How…long?"

Lou's expression softens. He offers the water again. "You were held captive for two and a half days. You've been here in the hospital for two more."

Steve sucks on the straw, trying to think. He'd been on a boat. "I was…I was talking to someone…on the boat."

Lou takes back the water. "It's okay. They got them too."

Steve's stomach knots as another memory comes back. Guilt. "They…killed…a shot…"

Lou's hand is back on his shoulder. "Ssh. Rest. Later, okay."

"Lou—"

"Later."

Steve blinks. Later? Later sounds good. He lets his head fall to one side again. As he watches, Danny starts to stir. Bleary-eyed, he stretches stiffly. When he realises who's watching him his face lights up.

"Is he awake?"

Steve frowns at Danny's question. It doesn't make sense.

"Yeah, longer this time," Lou answers from beside him. "Couple of the same questions he was asking before. But I think he's tracking this time."

There's shuffling beside him. His mind drifts for a while. Then another face appears in front of him. His skips a beat. He lets out a shaky breath. "Danny."

Danny's answering smile is huge. "Babe." The smile wobbles, then it's back again. "Love you."

"Love you...too," he whispers in return. There's nothing else to say. Danny's hand cups the back of his neck, pulling him in. His skin goosepimples as Danny fingertips drift across it. Their foreheads touch.

They both breathe, just breathe.

It really _is_ Danny. He's warm, he's real. He's not in the dark cell in the boat anymore. This isn't a fantasy, concocted by his mind to help him survive. He tries to move his hand, to touch, to confirm. He huffs with frustration when his arm won't co-operate.

"Hey. It's okay."

Frustration is replaced with calm when Danny's hand covers his. Their fingers intertwine. Danny keeps hold as sits back slightly. His eyes narrow as he studies Steve's face.

"You're looking better." Tilting his head, he smiles faintly. "Gotta tell you though, you need a shave."

Steve tries to move his hand again – the other one. It feels like he's dragging it through quick sand. He surprises himself when his fingers collide with his face. Investigation of his chin proves Danny's right. Grimacing, he catches Danny's eyes.

The skin around Danny's eyes is wrinkled. He's laughing at him. Or maybe with him? He doesn't care which - answering laughter is bubbling in his chest. It dies though as Danny turns his face and the light catches it. His cheek is bruised and swollen. There's a laceration disappearing into his hairline: it looks painful and raw.

Awkwardly, Steve reaches up to touch it. Danny intercepts him, leaning into his hand. Gently, Steve rubs his thumb pad over the bruising. Danny sighs, his eyes slide closed.

His heart's being crushed by the weariness in Danny's voice. "Sweetheart…"

Danny's eyes fly open at his term of endearment. It's not one he's used in Danny's hearing before. Danny blinks, his eyes glittering in the half-light. "You're a giant goof, you know that right?" he breathes, dipping in for a soft kiss. "A giant friggin' goof."

"Your goof," he mumbles in reply. Suddenly he's feeling incredibly tired. He's sinking back into the pillows, his body going lax. He fights it for a moment, tenses his body, trying to climb back up, to Danny.

"Sssh. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Danny stroking his cheek is enough to soothe him. Letting go, he slides towards sleep. He's vaguely aware of Danny humming softly to him. Then he falls asleep.

H50H50h50H50

**88 days**

Danny checks himself in the bathroom mirror. Grimacing, he looks away. The bruise on his face is turning yellow and green. He'd got rid of his beard a few days earlier but now he's wondering if he should have kept it. At least it was covering some of the bruising.

He's in the en-suite bathroom in Steve's hospital room. The light's harsh and clinical, he reminds himself. He really doesn't look that bad. Another glance in the mirror has him scoffing – it's not the lighting, he really does look that bad.

Washing his hands, he looks down at the clothes he's wearing. He's been sitting around with Steve in the hospital for the best part of five days. Grover's bought him a change of clothes at least once. But he's still wearing Steve's cargo pants and it's probably time to retire them. Steve hasn't commented, but it's only a matter of time before he asks for them back.

Pushing open the door, he makes a mental note to ask Grover to pick him up a pair of jeans next time he goes to feed Eddie. He adds a change of clothes for Steve to his mental note to Grover. Steve's still on bed rest. The jogging pants and top he's wearing are fine for now but in a few days they're gonna let him out – fingers crossed. On top of that he adds a request for another book: the days drag here but the nights are even longer.

Steve's bed is still empty. Checking his watch, he frowns. He hovers, indecisive. Then he strides out of the room and down the corridor. As he passes one of the nurses she shrugs, apologetically. Not slowing down, he nods his understanding. He's had years of experience of Steve-wrangling and he still doesn't have a one-hundred percentage success rate. She's only had a few days – and Steve's particularly stubborn when he's sick.

Arriving at Sean MacCormac's room he pauses. His body twitches, wanting to be in there. Reining it back, he forces his body to calm. Sean's not been doing well since being admitted to the hospital. The last thing he needs is a tired, frustrated cop from Jersey busting in on him.

Tapping his knuckles on the door he waits before gently pushing it open. He blinks, giving his eyes a chance to adapt to the dim lighting. Slowly he walks into the room.

Sean's in bed, curled up on his left side, facing the door. Only his head is visible beneath the stack of blankets covering him. His eyes are open, he tracks Danny's progress but his body doesn't move.

Danny curbs his natural instinct to talk as he approaches Sean's bed. This isn't the first time he's been in his room. He knows Sean hasn't really communicated with anyone since arriving; not his family or the hospital staff. The only person he's asked to see is Steve. Steve's insisted on going back several more times. No one's sure if they even talk much. But Sean's family think it's making a positive difference. Danny just wishes it was making a positive difference for Steve too.

Steve's sitting in the chair next to Sean's bed. The grey sweatpants and top he's wearing fade into the gloom. As he shifts at Danny's approach white surgical dressings peek out from beneath the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. The half-light throws shadows under his cheekbones and eyes. The corner of his lips flick up in acknowledgment. There's no joy in his eyes.

Danny kneels down beside him. He places his good hand on Steve's thigh to steady himself. He feels an enormous sense of relief when Steve's hand covers his own. Steve's been retreating behind his old mental barriers, keeping everything inside. These brief moments of touch act like a bridge between them, it feels like Steve is reaching out.

His throat is tight with emotion. Swallowing hard, he turns his attention back to Sean. He shudders inwardly as Sean meets his gaze. He's heard the expression 'dead behind the eyes' used many times. Meeting Sean, it's the first time he's actually really understood what it means. "Hey," he whispers into the painful silence, "is it okay if I take him back?"

Danny knows that to anyone walking in right now this would sound like a strange question. Neither of them are Steve's keeper. Steve doesn't need their permission to come or go. But Steve seems determined to do whatever he can to help Sean. He won't go without Sean being okay about it – as the nurse in the corridor had probably just found out too.

Sean licks his lips. His eyes flick to Steve and back again. "Sure."

Danny pushes himself back to his feet. It crosses his mind to say 'thank you' but resentment stops him. Annoyed with his own attitude, he drags up a reassuring half-smile. All of this is Fedorov's fault. The only person he should be taking out his frustration on is him. That's never going to happen though. The Governor had put Fedorov on the first available transport off of Oahu. He's already in a super-max prison in California.

Rubbing his injured arm, he goes to the door to wait for Steve. Behind him he can hear Steve saying something to Sean, so low he can't hear. Sean must be able to hear because he answers, even lower than Steve. There's a pause. Silence. Then the sound of chair legs scrapping across the floor as Steve pushes his chair back.

Steve had used a wheelchair the first time they'd visited. Two days later and he's walking but he's still not steady on his feet due to the residual effects of the fever and infection.

Danny waits until he's at the door before taking his elbow. For a second he thinks Steve is going to resist. Then Steve leans into him, a warm and reassuring weight beside him. Together they slowly make their way back to his room.

He deliberately doesn't fuss as Steve gets back into bed. He knows it won't be welcome. Stepping back, he waits for Steve to get comfortable before stretching out on his own bed and flicking on the TV.

There's an old soap opera playing. He doesn't recognise it but leaves it on anyway. Steve won't be watching it; he always retreats further after visiting Sean. And he's too worried about Steve to care what's happening on the TV screen.

Pulling out his phone, he starts typing messages to Rachel and Grace. He knows they'll chase him for updates if he doesn't. Grace has been begging him to let her visit as soon as Steve gets home. Flicking his eyes over to Steve, his heart clenches painfully. Steve's curled up on his side, eyes open but unfocused. Looking back down at his phone, he tells Grace he'll see how Steve feels later in the week.

Putting his phone away, he checks the time. It's an hour until dinnertime. Steve's still supposed to be on a hospital diet, to help offset his lack of appetite. The team though will be over with takeout – they're determined to tempt him with different food every night. It hasn't worked so far. The nurses have been grateful for what's left. But being together, it's helped all of them. Even Steve. _Especially_ Steve.

Settling down on his pillows, he tucks his good arm behind head and stares at the ceiling. It's weird this routine they've fallen into. It's like they've set up a second home in the hospital. He knows he could go home – hell, he _should _go home – but the idea of stepping outside the hospital fills him with anxiety. Next time he leaves this building he's going to have Steve beside him. Until then, this room is going to be the place he calls home.

To be continued…


	10. Chapter 10

H50H50H50

**91 days**

Steve's barely across threshold of his house when Eddie bounds across the living room to welcome him. Kneeling down, he braces for the onslaught. Eddie doesn't need any more encouragement: with a happy woof he flings himself into Steve's arms.

Steve gets to his feet when Eddie eventually loses interest and wanders off. Danny's standing a couple of steps behind him, only just inside the door. He's been like a human shadow ever since they left the hospital. Something inside him eases when Danny steps up beside him and threads their fingers together. When he looks down Danny smiles back at him but it's weak at best. He's radiating anxiety, fidgeting on the spot.

"Gonna put these in the laundry," Danny says, gesturing to the sports bag slung over his shoulder. "Get comfortable, babe. I'll fix us something to eat."

Steve opens his mouth to say something. As Danny disappears into the kitchen he closes it again. It's his fault Danny's anxious, that he needs to comfort-cook. Frustrated he takes a step forward, stops. He's been dying to come home, he's been fucking _dreaming _about it. It's his sanctuary; _their _sanctuary. The last thing he'd expected was to walk in and feel…off.

Annoyed, he scans the room. The TV's not quite in its normal place. The sofa's been moved too. Charlie's Disney DVDs are still stacked where he left them. Grace's books are on the dining table, undisturbed. There's a faint aroma of stale takeaway and fried beef. The fried beef he recognises instantly; Junior cooks it as a treat for Eddie. Searching further, he spies a gap on the floor: there was a rug there, it's disappeared. Staring at it causes a ripple of unease in his mind. Turning away, he heads for the kitchen.

Opening the kitchen door, his heart rate speeds up. The kitchen's empty. There's noise coming from the garage: the door to the garage is open. Keeping one eye on it, he sidles towards the drawer with the spare gun. He's almost there when common sense kicks in again – they haven't got intruders, it's just Danny doing the laundry.

By the time Danny comes back in a few minutes later, he's got his heart rate and breathing back under control. Almost. He can feel Danny's eyes boring into his back though. Needing a distraction, he opens the cupboard where he keeps his meds.

His physician has prescribed him a new regime of meds, along with the antibiotics he's still taking. They'd been in the sports bag. Danny's already put them in the cupboard, neatly lined up with the rest. He's back to monthly check-ups too. He'd been bitterly disappointed when his physician had told him. It had felt like a huge step backwards. Right now though, Danny's still watching him. Retrieving his red pen, he goes to cross out the days on the calendar he's missed.

"I've already done them," Danny says from just beyond his shoulder, making him jump. "Um…actually I did one of them…Junes did the rest."

Steve turns. His heart sinks at the guilt on Danny's face. He can guess why Danny did it: a need for normalcy, a self-defense mechanism against what was going on. He looks back at the endless lines of red crosses, every single one a testament that he'd stuck to his regime. His eyes slide over the new drugs he's now got to take. "It doesn't matter," he says, slamming the cupboard shut. "It was a stupid idea anyway."

"_Babe_—"

He opens his arms. "Come here."

Danny walks into them like he's sleep walking. He hooks his good arm around Steve's waist. Steve pulls him in closer. They stand, locked together. It helps - having Danny next to him always helps. But it's still not enough.

With a huff of frustration, he pulls away. Danny's bewildered expression stabs him in the heart. Before Danny can say anything he grabs his hand. Leading him out of the kitchen, he detours just long enough to reset the house alarm then he heads for the stairs. Danny gets on board quickly: one second he's dragging him along, the next Danny's leading him up the stairs.

Steve falters for a second in the doorway of the bedroom. He's here. It's not a dream. Then Danny's tugging insistently, closing the door behind them.

Steve strips off quickly, sliding under the duvet cover. The bed's soft, instantly welcoming. He closes his eyes for a second, lets out a long breath. When he opens them again, Danny's watching him, his eyebrows one long line of worry.

Looking down, he sees what Danny sees. It's been a week since he was rescued but the skin on his torso is still marbled with bruising. He's lost a few pounds too. The wounds around his wrists are healing, the dressings have been removed. But they're not pretty. The rest of his body doesn't look that good either.

Danny's expression darkens. Uncertain, he takes a step back.

Steve grabs the other corner of the duvet. Throwing it back, he grabs Danny's arm and pulls. There's a moment of hesitation then Danny's sitting down on the edge of the mattress. Slowly he gets undressed. Getting the tee-shirt over the cast on his arm is problematic. Leaning over, Steve helps him wiggle it over his head.

As Danny slides into bed beside him, his breath catches in his throat. Anger flares in his chest. Danny's body is as battered as his is. He's not sure where to touch.

Danny makes the decision for him; he leans in for the first kiss. It's soft, full of love. But it's too tentative. Arching up, Steve returns the kiss, putting everything he's feeling into it. Danny hums in reply.

Carefully they explore each other's bodies, touching with their lips and hands. It's not sexual, not even passionate. By the end they're both shaking. Arms and legs entwined, they lay face-to-face.

"Jesus, Danny. I thought…I thought I'd never..."

"I know, babe. I know."

The anguish in Danny's voice nearly undoes him. Still shaking, he shuffles them around until Danny's back is resting against his chest. Using his own arm as a makeshift pillow, he supports Danny broken arm. Placing his lips on Danny's hair, he gives him another kiss.

"Go to sleep," he whispers when Danny shifts as if to get up again. It's only mid-afternoon but neither of them have been getting much rest.

Danny tenses. "You need to eat and—"

"I'm good." Gently, he shifts his grip across Danny's chest, holding him in place. He doesn't want to argue. Not now. Not _here_.

When Danny relaxes, burrowing in further, he smiles with relief. Placing his lips on Danny's hair again, he listens. Gradually Danny's breathing evens out, his body a warm deadweight leaning against him.

His smile dies as he stares at the ceiling. Even the short trip from the hospital has exhausted him. His body is screaming for sleep too. He doesn't want to close his eyes though. Every time he does there are nightmares waiting for him.

The click of Eddie's claws on the hallway floor are a welcome distraction. He listens as they come closer, then stop. There's the sound of snuffling under the closed bedroom door, then shuffling and a soft thud.

There's something reassuring about knowing Eddie's on guard duty. Having Danny in his arms – a warm, solid presence – it's helping too. Outside he can hear waves lapping against the beach. His heartbeat speeds up when he hears voices outside. He's about to reach for the nightstand drawer, his spare revolver, when he's realises it's his neighbours.

Heart thudding, he stares at the ceiling again.

_This will get better, _he reminds himself. He's been here before. Back with Danny, in their home – together_ -_ it's gonna be fine. It _has_ to be.

Gradually he loses the battle to stay awake. As his eyes slide closed he tightens his grip on Danny. The last conscious thing he's aware of is Danny muttering under his breath, shuffling higher, slotting perfectly under his chin.

He dreams of his Dad and Victor Hesse.

H50H50H50

**94 days**

Danny's chopping onions for his tomato pasta sauce when he hears a truck pull up outside. He stops. Listens. Knife still in his hand, he goes to the kitchen window.

It's Lou's truck.

Refusing to open the door isn't an option. He thinks about it though. Lou's one of his closest friends. That's the problem - Lou knows him too well. Sighing, he goes to the front door and switches off the house alarm. Opening the door, he heads back to the kitchen. Lining up another onion, he starts chopping again.

The front door opens and closes. Eddie woofs in welcome. Heavy footsteps cross the living room.

"You expecting guests?"

Shrugging with one shoulder, Danny turns. Wiping his hands on his apron he goes for a non-descript half-smile. "No. You'll take some right?"

Lou raises one eyebrow.

They stare at each other across the kitchen island. On top of it are five trays of cooked lasagne. The kitchen is full of the aroma of cooked beef and melted mozzarella.

"Sure," Lou replies, his eyes narrowing, "why not."

Danny rubs at the cast on his arm. He's got tomato sauce on it. It's turning pink as he rubs it in. "You wanted something?" There's silence. Reluctantly he looks up. The sympathy in Lou's eyes makes him glad they've got the table between them: pasta has always been his comfort food of choice.

"You don't call, you don't write," Lou says, his smile belying the worry in his voice. "I know we agreed you and Steve needed time on your own but you've gotta give me something. Me…the team…we're worried. And Junior…man, he's climbing the walls."

"We're good. Really good. Peachy."

Lou glances around the kitchen. "Peachy. Right." He turns his attention back to the table. Counting with his eyes, he looks up to meet Danny's gaze. "Where's Steve?"

Puffing out his cheeks, Danny turns his attention back to the tomato sauce. "Outside. On the beach."

"Swimming? I thought the Doc said swimming was out for two weeks. He was worried about infection and—"

"He's just sitting there." Danny retrieves a ladle from a drawer. He stirs the sauce. Tasting it, he adds more seasoning. "That's what he does. Goes to the hospital, sits with Sean. Comes home. Stares at the sea."

"Stares at the sea?" Lou's lips turn down as he considers that. "How's Sean doing?"

"Better." He huffs. "According to Steve." He pauses, staring into the cooking pot. His heart sinks as Lou pulls out a stool from under the table. It creaks as he sits down.

"How you doing?"

Danny schools his features to neutral. He looks back over his shoulder. "Me? I'm good."

Lou's eyebrow skips upwards again. "See, you keep saying that. And I wanna believe you. I really do. But this…" He trails off, his eyes sweeping across the table. "…this is setting my spidey senses tingling."

Danny stares at the bubbling sauce. Shoulders drooping, he turns down the heat under the pot. Lou's not going to give up.

"I worry too much," he says, pulling out a stool for himself. "It's nothing." Rubbing his hands across his face, he considers his options. He could just shrug this off, he knows Lou wouldn't take it personally. But the last few days have been hard, too hard. Exhaling slowly, he meets Lou's eyes.

"It's like…when I first met him, he used to do this thing…you'd look at him and on the outside he'd be like…like some ninja superhero…hanging bad guys off roofs, feeding them to the sharks. But inside—"

"—inside he was a mess?"

"Yeah." Danny stares at the table top as memories creep up on. Sighing hard, he taps the side of his head. "He'd…um…he'd go hide, in here."

"And that's what he's doing now?"

"Kind of." He raises his eyes again, meeting Lou's gaze. Guilt washes over him. He feels like he's betraying Steve, even though Lou is one of their closest friends. "It's not as bad as back then." Steve's shutters aren't pulled all the way down. "It's just…he won't talk about it, tell me what happened."

Lou leans down, until they're on the same level. "That's the way he's wired, man," he says sympathetically. "It's his way of dealing. It takes…time."

Danny shakes his head. "That's just it, Lou. He's…er….he's not dealing. He feels guilty. He's been having nightmares. Bad ones. They started in the hospital but I guess I figured…back home…being here would help."

"Nightmares? About what happened on the boat?"

"Maybe." He scrubs at his face again. God, he's so tired. "He..um…he's mentioned his Dad." He glances out to the living room. He's always known that ghosts walk in this house. He's never expected any of them to come back to life.

"Oh."

From Lou's tone he knows his friend has read between the lines, understood the problem. This case with Fedorov, it has similarities with what happened with Steve's dad. Similarities that hadn't occurred to him until they'd come back from the hospital. "They could have killed us," he whispers into the heavy silence. "We nearly died, here."

Lou pinches his nose. "The nightmares," he asks, his voice muffled by his hand, "does he…mention you?"

Danny can feel Lou's eyes following him as he gets up again to stir the sauce. But this is the one thing he's never going to discuss. He's _never _going to tell Steve he's screamed his name out in his nightmares. And he sure as hell is never going to let Steve know how guilty those screams make him feel.

"I know Steve wanted to come home but…maybe it was a mistake," he answers instead, his eyes drifting to the corner of the kitchen where Fedorov's man had died.

"Come stay with us."

_No_. He's thought this over in the early hours, when he's been awake. Turning, he leans against the counter. "It's his home, Lou. It's _our _home."

"It's gotta be hard, though. Those bastards invaded it. They took away your security. That's tough, man. Really tough." Lou hesitates, looks down at his hands. "Do you feel safe here?"

Danny turns to stir the sauce again. "This place has been targeted more times than Fort Knox," he jokes weakly, waving the ladle to encompass the house. "It's still standing. I think we're good."

"Do you feel _safe?"_

There's an underlying note of anger in Lou's voice that grabs his attention. Slowly he turns. The two of them have been through some tough days together. There's no point lying to him. Knowing that doesn't make it any easier to explain what's been bugging him though. But he can't keep it to himself any longer - it's acting like an invisible barrier between him and Steve.

"Charlie and Grace…" Running his hand over his hair, he tries again. "They're supposed to be coming over next weekend." His heart sinks as he looks back towards the living room, imagining the space where the rug had been. "I figured…I figured it might help…"

"But now you're not so sure?" Lou says softly, rescuing him.

"If they'd been here when Fedorov's men came..." He shuts the thought down. Fast. Even imaging what could have happened is too hard to face.

Lou shakes his head, sharply. "If they'd been here the alarm would have been on and—"

"You don't know that, Lou." Throwing the ladle on the counter, he starts to pace. "What happens if we forget again, huh? Next time some asshole from—"

"I do know that," Lou cuts in, even and calm. "So do you. And in a week's time, in a month's time, whenever your head is straight again you'll know that too."

Danny stops, tries to listen. It's difficult over the angry pounding of his heart. Resting his hands on the counter, he stares into the pot. "Yeah," he breathes, a moment later. "Yeah, you're right."

"Have you told him? You know, what you're worried about?"

He swallows heavily. "No."

"Does he know?"

Danny considers that. It's a good question. He and Steve, they might not be good at talking but that's never stopped them from knowing what the other one's been thinking. "Maybe." He rubs at his injured shoulder. "I guess I thought...things have been good. You know, since we've been together. I thought that would make it easier."

"Being together?" Lou's expression turns sad. "No. It just makes it harder. You care more. It hurts more."

"Yeah," Danny sighs. "I'm remembering that."

The kitchen window's open, letting in the sounds of the world outside. For a while though they're both oblivious, lost in their own thoughts and memories.

"Got any coffee?" Lou asks eventually, shifting on the stool.

Danny blinks back into the present. "Sure."

On automatic pilot, he takes the kettle to the sink. As he starts filling it with water Lou unfolds himself from his seat. It says something about their relationship that Lou knows where to find the coffee mugs. He pulls out three, and puts them on the table.

"Gonna check on our boy," Lou says when he raises his eyebrows at the extra mug.

"Lou—"

"That lasagne ready?" Lou continues, ignoring his warning. He opens another cupboard, takes out three plates. "I didn't get lunch."

Danny drops his head. The kettle sits forgotten in the sink. "He's not going to eat it," he confesses, suddenly feeling like an idiot for cooking so much food. "Just leave it and I'll—"

"Not a problem," Lou cuts in, his face splitting into a toothy, determined grin. "I've got a big enough appetite for all of us."

H50H50H50

Steve's always found comfort in the sea, the rhythm of the waves. After his Mom died, his Dad was shot, when he needed to escape he'd jump into the sea. Now though, sitting on the beach, it feels like the waves are mocking him. The need to dive in is like a craving. The fact he can't hurts so bad.

Groaning, he stretches out his legs. Eddie's been curled up on his feet, he can't feel them anymore. Leaning down, he scratches the healing wounds around his ankles. They're constantly itching. The blood rushing back to his feet makes it worse.

Eddie wiggles his way through the chair legs. Popping out the other side, he worries at his hand. Ever since he came back from the hospital Eddie's been following him and Danny everywhere. They're all feeling delicate, slightly off kilter. Danny's been taking pity on Eddie, feeding him extra scraps of food.

There's been plenty to go round.

Even on the beach he can smell the lasagne. It's usually his favorite: Danny could make it every day and he'd still eat it. But his stomach roils at the idea of food. The anti-biotics and new meds regime are messing with his stomach. That, and the guilt he feels when he's with Danny.

_He'd almost got Danny killed_.

His breath hitches at the sudden surge of emotion. It's like being hit centre-chest with a punch. It's the same self-loathing he experiences when he sits with Sean. He should have done more, that's what he keeps thinking. His mind is constantly making up different scenarios, an endless stream of 'what ifs'. What if he'd been focused on the Sunday morning and remembered to reset the alarm. What if his body hadn't succumbed to the infection and maybe he could have helped Eduardo Ignacio and Sean.

_What if._

Suddenly Eddie perks his ears up. His tail starts wagging, thudding against the chair leg. With a happy woof, he gets up and bounds off.

Steve frowns, his heart beat quickening. Eddie adores Danny but that welcome wasn't for him. Turning round in his seat he watches as the door onto the lanai opens. He grins despite himself when he realises it's Lou.

His grin slips when he sees Lou is carrying two coffee mugs. He experiences a moment of deja-vu. Exhaling heavily, he gets to his feet. He and Lou became friends because they both needed someone who would challenge them, would make them look closer at themselves, to help them heal. Over the years they've both come closer to healing. But neither of them have relinquished their role of private confessor.

"Danny still cooking in there?" Steve asks, taking the coffee mug that's offered and sitting back down.

"Yeah." Lou sits in the other chair. "Smells real good," he continues, taking his first sip of coffee. "Danny's gonna bring us some in a bit."

"I'm not hungry…" he starts but trails off. He can tell from Lou's face he already knows this. Resting his coffee mug in his lap, he rubs at his temple with his thumb. "I know he's worried about me," he says, regret weighing down every word, "but this…this will pass. I've been here before. It'll be okay."

Lou lowers his coffee mug. He looks out to sea. "He said exactly the same thing."

"He did?" Steve frowns. Sure, Danny's been trying to be upbeat. But they've both been shuffling around each other, trying not to smash each other's fragile façade of normalcy.

Lou turns to look straight at him. "Hmm hmm. Right before he told me the truth."

"Don't—" he warns, going on the defensive but he can tell it's already too late. Lou's a gentle giant – most of the time. But when he's got the bit between his teeth, there's no stopping him. And right now, Lou's just warming up.

Lou puts his coffee mug on the ground. Coming back up, he taps the side of his head. "I know it's easier to hide in there. Trust me, I do. But it's not healthy. You know that. You're got talk to someone—"

"I can handle it—"

"That thousand-yard stare you had going on before I came out here tells me otherwise."

"I was just thinking, that's all—"

"Danny says you've been doing a lot of that."

Steve tightens his grip around his coffee mug. "So what, I can't even think about things without—"

"You've got to _share_."

Straightening in his seat, he meets Lou's gaze head on. "No. I don't."

"Steve—"

"I _can't_, okay."

Lou looks away and back again. "You can't share with anyone?" he asks. "Or you can't share with Danny?"

"_Lou_—" The sympathy in his friend's voice is too much. Getting to his feet, he strides to the water's edge. The waves lap up to his slippahs, teasing as they touch the tips of his toes. He shivers in reaction.

"You can talk to me."

Lou's stepped up beside him. Hands in pockets, he's looking out to sea as well.

Steve takes a steadying breath, then another one. He hadn't realised just how riled up he was. Lou's right – God, he knows he's right – but it doesn't make it any easier. He glances back over his shoulder at the house. Despite everything that's happened there it's still his home. The home he wants to share with Danny.

"It's my fault he was hurt. If the alarm had been on then they would never have—"

"You don't know that."

"I do." He clenches his jaw. None of Fedorov's men would have made it out of the house alive.

Lou huffs under his breath. "I hear you, man."

"When they showed me their photo of Danny…" He breaks off, the memory choking him.

"Hey—"

"I didn't…I didn't know anything could hurt that much, Lou." He stares down at his toes, watches the ebb and flow of the waves. "I've always cared about him but now…"

"It's different, huh?"

"Yeah." He risks a glance over a Lou. Lou nods back in encouragement. He pauses, trying to sort out the thoughts in his head. "Everything's changed. It's a lot…it's a lot to take in."

Lou shrugs "Not everything's changed. You and Danny, you've loved each other for a long, long time."

"I know…but…" He runs his hand through his hair, grits his teeth with frustration. He's never been good with words. And Danny…talking about Danny sets off a maelstrom of emotions that he struggles to articulate. Helpless, he looks over at Lou.

"Now it's the real deal and that makes it worse?"

_Thank you. _"I feel like I'm letting him down, Lou. Danny and relationships…he took a huge risk for me and now—"

"Letting him down? Are you _nuts_?"

He half-smiles. "Thanks for that overwhelming vote of confidence," he shoots back. Shaking his head he kneels down to dip his hand in the water. It's cool, the perfect counterbalance to the anger and frustration that's constantly dogging him.

"Pleasure's all mine." There's a pause. Lou clears his throat. "When they gonna let you back in there?"

He looks up. Lou's looking out to sea again. "Another week. Maybe longer. They're worried about another infection."

"Sucks huh?"

_So much._

"You told Danny that?"

Steve blinks in surprise. He's pretty sure he hadn't said that out loud. "No." That isn't going to happen. "He worries about my liver. About the drugs. Hell, you know what he's like. He worries about everything."

"That hasn't changed either."

"No. I guess not. It's just…I feel like I'm adding to the list of things he needs to worry about. He shouldn't have to do that."

Lou humpfs under his breath. "You sure that's the problem?"

Steve gives Lou a sideways glance. Lou looks back down at him, steady, supportive, no hint of judgement in his eyes. This is why he's always trusted Lou with his deepest secrets: Lou's been there too.

Dipping his hand in the water, he grabs a handful of sand. Watching it slide through his fingers, he tries again to get his thoughts straight. "I couldn't get out of there," he says slowly, testing it each word as it emerges. "You know, on the boat. Back in the day I could have done it, Lou. Those bastards would've—"

Lou hunkers down beside him, effectively cutting him off. "At the risk of sounding like a broken record – you don't know that either."

_Maybe. _"The infection…" He swallows, takes a deep breath. "I miss my old body." He looks away, ashamed. "How ungrateful does that sound, huh?"

"Danny understands that. You know that, right?"

_Yeah, I know. "_I thought they had him. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it because…because…"

"You feel like your body let you down."

He flinches, despite the kindness in Lou's tone. The words sound harsh said out loud. But it's what's been spinning around in his head endlessly. Having them out in the open makes them more real. Blinking, he rubs at his eyes.

Lou sighs, a soft sound full of compassion. "He knows all this. He understands."

"He's got enough to worry about. I know he won't say it but he's worried about Grace and Charlie too. If I tell him—"

"He needs you to talk to him."

There's a note of insistence creeping into Lou's tone that makes him look over.

"He might not have been on the boat with you," Lou continues, his voice low, "but he lived through this with you. You're not the only who's feeling guilty. You're the only person he can share that with. The guilt, the nightmares, it's not gonna get any better unless you talk."

Lou's words hit him centre chest. His mind scrabbles to unpick the nuances, to understand what he's missed. Ever since he woke up in the hospital he's been trying to protect Danny, to stop him being hurt even more. And Danny's been doing the same. They've been so busy trying not to hurt each other they've pushed each other away.

He's saved from replying when the back door to the house opens. There's an excited woof as Eddie comes bounding out to join them. He gives Eddie an ear-rub before looking back towards the house.

Danny's standing on the lanai, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. He used to dream of Danny standing there, of sharing the house with him. It had been everything he'd dreamed of, until Fedorov's men had invaded their lives.

Getting to his feet, he rubs his sand-covered hand on his shorts. Offering it to Lou, he lets himself be pulled in for one-armed hug. It crosses his mind to say thank you. He dismisses it. Lou and him, they're both way beyond needing that.

His fear of hurting Danny is still uppermost in his mind as he heads back across the lawn, Lou close beside him. But Lou's right, some things haven't changed. He and Danny, they've always been there for each other in their darkest moments. They always help each other through. They're gonna make it this time. He just has to _share_.

To be continued…


	11. Chapter 11

H50H50H50

**94 days**

Danny pads through the living room, his bare feet barely making any sound on the wooden floor. Heading for the kitchen, he checks the windows are closed. Moving to the garage, he repeats the exercise again. Satisfied, he heads back for the kitchen, locking the door to the garage behind him. Hanging the garage key on the hook beside the door, he turns back to survey the kitchen.

There are no signs left of his lasagne cooking marathon. The freezer is filled to busting. Lou had taken the rest to give to the team. Cleaning up had been surprisingly painless. He and Steve hadn't argued over it like they normally would. Instead, they'd passed the time in a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The evening had passed much the same way.

Rolling his eyes at himself, he heads into the living room. They've got enough food to eat for a month. One day he'll learn how to curb his stress impulses. One good thing had come out of it though: Steve had eaten a full meal. Having Lou there hadn't hurt either. His endless gentle banter was exactly what they'd both needed.

He locks the front door and then the one to the lanai. Setting the alarm, he tells Eddie to get into this basket. Head down, Eddie does as he'd told. He grins at Eddie's drama queen antics. They both know as soon as he goes to bed Eddie will be upstairs, keeping guard at their bedroom door. Giving him one last pat, he heads upstairs.

Steve's already in bed. Staring at the ceiling, he's got one arm tucked under his head. In the dim light the bruises on his torso are barely visible. The scars around his wrist are a healing shade of pink rather than red.

Danny doesn't disturb him. Using the bathroom, he brushes his teeth. He studies his reflection in the mirror. The bruising on his face is pink too. His shoulder's stopped aching, except when he's tired, like now. Next week, he's getting a lightweight cast and going back to desk duties. At least some things are getting back to normal, he thinks, spitting out the toothpaste. Then he sees the dark shadows under his eyes.

Switching off the light, he heads back to the bedroom. Steve hasn't moved. There are still dark shadows under his eyes too, he realises. They both exhausted, not getting enough sleep.

Sighing inwardly, he slides under the duvet. The talk with Lou had helped. Sitting eating dinner, he'd felt the most positive he had for days. Now though, they're back here, where the daylight morphs into darkness. His heart sinks at the inevitable sleepless, nightmare-filled night that he knows is about to follow.

He looks over, realises Steve is watching. Automatically he rolls over, draping his arm over Steve's chest. Arching up, he's rewarded when Steve leans down for a kiss. It's their ritual, this moment of intimacy. Even on the toughest days they've always got this.

Rolling back, he switches off the bedside lamp. Making himself comfortable again, he closes his eyes. Tucked up against Steve's chest, he listens to the sound of his heartbeat, the slow dub-dub-dub. He counts every beat. Slowly his body relaxes, reassured by the sound.

Gradually he drifts towards sleep.

"Danny."

Danny jerks back to consciousness. Heart pounding, he fights to catch his breath. Shifting, he realises he's still draped over Steve's chest. Confused, he tries to sit up. Normally if Steve were in the middle of a nightmare he'd be struggling, trying to get away.

"Sssh."

He frowns into the darkness as Steve pulls him back down. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Steve shifts, tightens his grip around his shoulders. "I just…I just wanna talk. Lou said some things today and I think…maybe I should tell you what I told him."

Steve sounds uncertain. Danny opens his mouth to stop him, to tell him it'll be okay but Steve's already talking. Wrapping his good arm around Steve's chest, he listens. When Steve starts telling him about the guilt he feels at being unable escape, his frustration with his body, he stops him: his pained whisper is more than he can take.

"I know, babe," he whispers, leaning back so Steve can hear him. "Don't you think I know how hard this has been for you?"

"You risked your life for me and I'm whining about—"

"Let me make something clear here," he cuts in, tapping his forefinger against Steve's chest, where the transplant scar is now barely visible. "I know I complain, okay, but I do it because I worry. I risked my life, gave you a part of me, so you'd be here. Alive. With _me_. That's _all_ I need. I'm not looking for gratitude. If you're having a bad day, you bitch as much as you want. You understand?"

"But—"

"Nod if you understand me." There's a nod. Hesitant, but it's there. "Great. You got anything else you want to share?"

To anyone else but Steve he knows his question would sound flippant. It's not – over the years they've learnt their own way to communicate. He can hear Steve's breathing heavily. He is too. The air is thick with emotion. One wrong word, a push too hard, and they'll both go over the edge.

Steve pulls him closer. "I'm sorry. About the alarm. If I'd switched it back on then none of this would have happened and—"

"I should have checked it when I made breakfast—"

"_No_. We were in our own house. We should be able to feel safe without—"

Danny snorts, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. "That's exactly what Lou said."

There's a pause. "So why are we arguing about it?" There's another pause. "Jesus, we're idiots."

Danny considers that. Groaning, he rolls over and switches on the light. When he rolls back Steve's blinking furiously. Despite the weight of the conversation, there's something cute about his confusion.

Unable to resist, he dips in for a kiss. Steve sighs softly, arching up to meet him. The tension between them starts to lift. For such a hard-ass Steve's kisses are achingly sweet. He kisses like he can't quite believe it's happening, like he wants to savour the moment for as long as he can.

Danny's on board with that. He still can't believe how lucky he is either. Which makes this conversation even more insane. Pulling away, he flops onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "What the hell is wrong with us? Why are we doing this to ourselves?"

Steve exhales slowly. He's staring at the ceiling too. "Nothing," he answers, reaching out blindly to intertwine their fingers. "There's nothing wrong with us. They threatened our lives. In our home. It's a normal reaction."

"I get that but it's not making it any easier."

Steve tugs his hand, places a kiss on his knuckles. He glances over, nervousness written across his face. "I was thinking maybe I'd call a realtor tomorrow. Find out how much this place is worth."

Danny's mind blanks out for a moment. "You're kidding me." His heart sinks as he studies Steve's face. "You're not kidding me."

"We don't have to live here. We could live anywhere."

"This is your home. Your _family's _home." He sits up, tugs his hand back from Steve. Suddenly he's full of indignation and anger. His hands are twitching with the need to move. "We can't let a bastard like Fedorov take this away from us—"

"We're not—"

"You're talking about selling up. How is that not—"

"Danny."

"You can't do this."

"Sweetheart. Please."

The plea in Steve's voice takes all the wind out of his sails. That and his use of 'sweetheart'. It still has the power to stop him in his tracks, in stupefied wonder. Defeated, he slumps back into his pillows.

"My home is wherever you are," Steve says quietly. "You and Grace and Charlie. That's all _I _need."

Danny crosses his arms. He knows he looks like a petulant teenager but he _hates _the direction the conversation's gone, the quiet determination in Steve's voice. They don't need a new home. They've got one _here._

"Okay," he says slowly, as a way out of this mess occurs to him. "Maybe you've got something there. A couple of extra bedrooms, somewhere we can have Mary and Joanie stay over too. We'll reach out to a realtor in the morning. I got one condition though."

"What?"

"You get to tell Charlie you won't be able to teach him to snorkel in the bay when he's older."

Charlie had been bugging Steve for ages about learning to snorkel. In the end they'd agreed that Steve would teach him on his seventh birthday. The memory of Steve holding Charlie's tiny hand and making a pinky promise, his face deadly serious, is one he'll cherish forever. He feels mean using it like this but he's desperate.

Steve's expression darkens. His lips turn down at the ends. "Low blow, _Daniel."_

He shrugs. "Just using the tools I've got, _Steven_."

Steve huffs, rubbing his hand across his face. "I don't want to move either, alright? But…I'm worried. You haven't mentioned having Grace and Charlie over. I'm pretty sure they're supposed to here next weekend. If you...if you don't want them in the house that's okay but—"

Danny holds his hands up in surrender, and with more than a small amount of guilt. "Slow down. Just slow down." Grabbing Steve's hand, he tries to ground himself. "I…um…I'm worried but…I kinda…I worry about everything."

"If you're worried about the alarms I'm already getting someone in to fit new ones—"

"Would you stop? Please?" He tugs Steve's hands, following his words up with actions. "Let me finish. What I was gonna say before you interrupted…_rudely_ interrupted," he adds when Steve opens his mouth, "was that I was worried. But something Lou said today made me realise that…he made see that Grace and Charlie are never safer than when they're here, with you and me."

Steve's expression turns deadly serious. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat. "I'd never let anything happen to them—"

He cuts Steve off with a kiss. It's hard, almost bruising. Pulling back, he rests his forehead on Steve's. "Don't you think I know that, you giant goof," he says, his voice sounding shaky to his ears.

For the first time that evening he's glad when Steve doesn't reply. He's not sure either of them can trust their voices or emotions. Instead, he dips in for another kiss. It's softer this time, more comforting. Their sex-life has been non-existent in the last week but these moments sustain him. He knows that will come right again as well.

Settling back down, he curves in close next to Steve's body. Their arms and legs entwine. For the second time that evening he goes to sleep. This time, the weight that's been crushing his heart feels a little lighter. He's not naïve, he doesn't believe in miracles. But at last there's light at the end of the tunnel.

H50H50H50

**100 days**

Steve blinks with surprise when he wakes up. Sunlight is creeping through the bottom of the window blinds, birds are singing outside. Moving carefully, he reaches out for his watch on the nightstand, to check the time. His mind isn't playing tricks on him – it really has gone 7am. Smiling to himself he puts the watch back. It's the longest he's slept uninterrupted for weeks.

His smile grows when he turns his head the other way. Danny's stretched out beside him, fast asleep. The bruising on his face has completely gone now, as have the lingering effects of the concussion. The new cast he's wearing on his arm is so thin it's barely visible under his clothes during the day. The laceration on his forehead is a pink scar now. There's a tuff of shorter hair sticking out where before they'd been no hair at all.

He resists the urge to wake up Danny. Outwardly Danny might look better, inwardly they're both still struggling. Not as bad as they were, he admits, as he slides carefully out of bed. He's not having nightmares every night. Danny's not as anxious all the time. But they're still off kilter, worried to let each other out of their sight.

Dragging his eyes away from Danny he stretches. The boxer shorts he's wearing slip slightly down his hips. Hitching them back up he scratches at his chest. The scars and bruises are fading but his skin still itches. Grabbing a discarded tee-shirt off the floor he slips it over his head.

Opening the bedroom door, he steps over Eddie. Raising his fingers to his lips he silently orders Eddie not to bark. Treading lightly he makes his way down the hall. Stopping at the guest bedroom he peeks around the half-open door. Grace is barely visible under her duvet: she's a duvet burrower like her dad. Charlie's sprawled star-fish like across the airbed they've set up for him. Neither of them stir as he leaves.

Heading downstairs, Steve ponders on the living arrangements. He and Danny haven't talked again about moving but it's still something he's thinking about. Not leaving – he really doesn't want to do that – but the house isn't suitable, long-term, without some renovation.

Making a mental note to talk to Kamekona about finding builders, he heads for the kitchen. On automatic pilot he feeds Eddie then he goes to get his meds. Opening the cupboard, he tips out the four sets of meds he needs to take.

The pill vials for the extra meds are half-empty. He's got another appointment with his doctor this week and he's hoping he'll be cleared for duty. First though – tomorrow – he has to attend a hearing, to give his personal deposition about his involvement with Anton Fedorov.

Forensics found more DNA in the cells on the boat and it doesn't belong to him, Eduardo or Sean. They also found the van he was kidnapped in - that contained traces of blood too. Investigations are ongoing but it looks like Fedorov was running a people trafficking ring on the islands. The news has caused a security uproar within the walls of the Governor's residence. Understandably she wants to know how the hell Mick Appleton – or whoever was working with Fedorov – had a prison ship moored off the coast of Hawaii without anyone noticing. And Mick Appleton's still out there somewhere – she's mad as hell about that too.

The idea of recounting everything that happened to him doesn't fill him with excitement. He knows Danny's worried about it, even if he won't say. But he's ready, he's been rehearsing in his head. This isn't the first time he's had to deliver a report on a difficult op with fatalities. It's all about the mental preparation, knowing how to detach yourself.

Retrieving the marker pen from the cupboard, he's smiling as he crosses off the date on the calendar. Running his eye down it he counts the days again, just to be sure. His smile grows as he puts the pen back and closes the cupboard.

100 days.

When he'd first thought about celebrating 100 days with Danny - back before everything went south with Fedorov – he'd figured maybe it was a silly idea. Now it feels like a milestone worth celebrating. Having Grace and Charlie with them, it's the icing on the cake.

Trouble is, he's got no idea what to do.

He's thought about it. Nothing's felt right. Neither of them have got the energy for a big night out, a special dinner. Ditto on a weekend in a swanky hotel. They've both been so focused on trying to get back to normality he hasn't had time to investigate anything else.

The sound of running feet upstairs draws his attention. For such a small guy, Charlie makes a lot of noise. Danny's voice joins in as he's rudely awoken by his son jumping on the bed and ambushing him. Eddie shoots out of the kitchen and thunders up the stairs. A few minutes later and Grace is awake too, complaining that she's covered in dog drool.

Steve chuckles as he starts getting supplies out of the fridge. Everyone will be down shortly and looking for breakfast. Busy, he forgets he was worrying about how to celebrate.

Charlie's the first to appear, giggling madly as he sticks his head around the door. Danny's got him tucked under his good arm, so strictly speaking it's a tie for first place. Steve lets Charlie have the win though, unable to resist Charlie's happy dance of success when Danny lets him down.

"Morning," Danny whispers, coming up behind him as he starts heating up a frying pan on the stove.

Danny's arm sliding around his waist is distracting. Danny's fingers sliding up under his tee-shirt to stroke his belly almost makes him drop the frying pan. "Menace," he growls, slapping his hand away. "Love you," he adds, diving in for a quick kiss.

Danny watches him as he rescues the frying pan. He's used to the attention now. This is what Danny does every morning, to gauge his mood. Usually he'll smile back, to reassure him. This morning, he doesn't have to act at all.

"You know what day it is?" he grins, making pancake batter as he talks.

"Sunday," Charlie pipes up from the stool that Danny's perched him on. "It's Sunday."

"Yeah, it's Sunday, babe," Danny replies, reaching out to stroke Charlie's hair. His eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why? What day do you think it is?"

Steve grins even more. Leaning in for another kiss, he lets this one linger. "100 days, sweetheart," he says, exhaling slowly when he eventually pulls away. "Us. Together. 100 days."

It's takes Danny a moment to catch on. When he does, his face lights up. Grabbing Steve by the front of his tee-shirt he reels him in for another kiss. Steve curves into it, wrapping his arm around Danny's hips and pulling him close. They're very much aware Charlie's in the kitchen with them and although he's used to seeing them showing affection, they have their own self-imposed rules. They pull apart again before things can get heated.

"Later," Danny whispers, his hand resting on Steve's hip, his thumb flicking under the hem of his tee. "Get away from there," he orders louder, nudging Steve away from the stove, "let the expert get in here."

Steve grumbles because he knows that makes Danny happy. As Danny pulls up a stool beside him so Charlie can help him make pancakes, he goes to lay the table.

Grace is coming downstairs. Still dressed in her pyjamas, her hair up in a ponytail, she looks bleary eyed. For a second Steve's transported back to the early days when he first met her. She'd been tiny then, Danny's little princess. She's still his princess – she always will be – but she's growing into a beautiful young woman. He's beyond grateful she and her Dad stumbled into his life all those years ago.

He wants to tell her that but he doesn't. Opening his arms, he offers her a hug instead. Unquestioning, she steps into them. He holds her, resting his chin on her head.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

Her voice is muffled but he can hear the doubt in it. "I'm fine," he tells her. And he is. The scars are slowly fading. Eventually they'll be totally gone.

"Good." Pulling away, she studies his face. He tells himself not to fidget. She's like her Dad in so many ways. "I'll check Charlie hasn't destroyed the kitchen yet," she jokes, smiling.

Chuckling, he heads for the dining room. Standing in the doorway he revisits his thoughts about needing more space. There's a box room upstairs he's been using for storage – it used to be Mary's room. It could be the office and then, with some work, this office could be a bedroom. Getting the cutlery out of the sideboard, he mulls that idea over. He's wondering how horrified Danny would be if he suggested they do the work themselves when he catches sight of the space where the rug used to be.

A ripple of unease stirs in his mind. He stares at the space, unable to drag his eyes away.

There are some things he's never going to tell Danny. He's never going to know about the humiliation, anger and fear he'd felt while being dressed by Fedorov's men while drugged. He's not going to tell him how exposed he felt, how he was screaming inside in his head.

"Uncle Steve?"

He whips round, his heart-pounding. Grace is standing behind him. She looks worried.

"We need a new rug," he says, rubbing at his temple with his thumb.

"Sure," Grace says, dragging out the word. Her eyes flicker to the gap on the floor, the dining table then back to him. "You want some help with those?"

Looking down, he realises he's holding the knives and forks. "No. Yes." He shakes his head, trying to get his brain working again. He offers her the cutlery. "How about we eat out on the lanai?"

Her expression uncertain, she does as he's asked.

Steve waits for her to disappear outside then he scrubs his face with his hands. He's angry, so frustrated. He'd been enjoying himself and then…this. _Fuck it. _Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he tells himself to calm down. _This is just a blip_ a voice in his head tells him. It sounds a lot like Lou.

Sound drifts from the kitchen - Charlie's chattering to Danny. All the words are blending together, what he's saying doesn't really make sense. But Danny's laughing, a warm sound full of love. Steve lets the sound reel him in, enticing him. By the time he walks back in the kitchen he's collected himself.

"What's the hold up?" he asks, keeping his voice light. "You've got starving people out here."

Danny looks over his shoulder to roll his eyes at him. Charlie ignores him; tongue between his teeth, he's concentrating hard as he decorates pancakes with chocolate chips. There's enough food to feed a small army.

"We're done here," Danny announces, to Steve's relief. He can only eat so much.

Flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate, Danny switches off the hob. It's not long before they're all sitting out on the lanai, demolishing piles of pancakes. Eddie sits and watches them, patiently waiting for scraps.

Silence falls, broken only by the sound of munching and the clink of forks on plates. By the time they've finished Charlie's face is smeared with chocolate and maple syrup. He's got quite a lot of it on his hands too.

"Let's clean you up," Grace says, herding him inside before he can spread the mess any further. Eddie follows close behind, his tail wagging hopefully.

Steve pushes his plate and fork away. His stomach feels twice its normal size. "That was delicious," he says, his appetite happily sated.

"Good." They're sitting next to each other. Danny shifts so they're touching from shoulder to elbow. He wraps his hand over Steve's, rubbing his knuckles absently with his thumb. "We made it, babe."

"Yeah." Steve breaths in the sea air. He lets his eyes drift closed as he savours the smell. "Yeah."

"100 days." Danny sounds part-elated, part-relieved. "It's been…it's been one hell of ride."

Steve snorts, opens his eyes again. Danny's staring at him, their noses just inches apart. His mouth is quirked up at the ends, his expression soft and fond. His heart swells at the love shining in Danny's eyes. Tilting his head he kisses him, slow, gentle, trying to show with his touch just how much he loves Danny too.

"Goof," Danny murmurs, stroking his fingers along Steve's jawline as he pulls away. "I love you too."

Steve settles back into his chair, as Danny does the same. He claims Danny's hand back, weaving their fingers together. They drink their coffee in silence for a while but eventually he feels the need to share the thought that's still niggling him.

"100 days," he starts, hesitantly, "it feels…it feels like a big deal. I thought maybe I should take you to dinner or—"

Danny cuts in with a wave of his hand. "Like…celebrating an anniversary or something?"

"Maybe?" he answers, slowly. Danny sounds unconvinced. It's making him even more hesitant. They're not big on expensive displays of affection, it's just not them. But after everything that's happened he feels he should do _something _for Danny_. _

Danny frowns, chewing on his lip. There's a pause. Then he shakes his head. "I'm good," he says, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out. "This is all I need."

"This?"

Danny twirls his forefinger in the air to encompass everything around them. "_This_." Pausing he tilts his head back towards the house, and listens. The sound of Charlie arguing with Grace floats back to them. "Okay, maybe not _that,_" he adds, rolling his eyes.

Steve stops him as he goes to get up. "It's okay." And it is. The noise, the squabbling, the mess. The house has been bought back to life by having Danny, Charlie and Grace in it. Mary and Joanie too. Fedorov and his men haven't taken that away – they _can't_ take that away. This is _it. _This is the rest of his life.

Warmth pools behind his eyelids. His throat closes up with emotion. Staring at his lap, he swallows hard, trying to get himself under control.

"Hey. Babe."

Danny's gently tugging at his hand, refusing to be ignored. Blinking hard, he looks up. Danny's smiling back at him. He looks so relaxed, so _happy_.

"Shh," Danny tells him as opens his mouth to try and express what he's feeling. "Just so we're clear, this is one of those moments you _don't _need to talk."

He tries to look annoyed but it's difficult when faced with the affection in Danny's eyes. Huffing overly-dramatically, he settles back into this chair. "Whatever you say…sweetheart."

Provoking Danny is still an option, just because some things haven't changed and an annoyed Danny still pushes his buttons – in a good way. But Danny's leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, a blissful smile on his face as he catches a few rays. So he tries to do the same. It's hard though; he's got energy, feels the best he has for weeks. Sitting still just isn't in his DNA.

Danny opens one eye. Shaking his head, he closes it again. "Charlie. Grace," he yells at the top of his voice, "Steve's going swimming. Wanna go with him?"

There's excited yelling in the house. It's followed by the sound of two sets of feet and a set of paws thundering upstairs to get changed.

"Go," Danny says, opening one eye again. "You know you want to."

"But the Doctor said…my appointment isn't until—"

Danny closes his eye again, tilts his face to the sun. "I won't tell if you don't, babe."

Steve scrabbles to his feet. He kisses Danny, hard and fast. He tastes of sugar. "Are you sure?" he asks, despite his overwhelming need to jump in the sea _now. _It still feels like he should be doing boyfriend _things._

Danny opens his eyes, smiles lazily at him. "I'm good."

"You sure? You don't want more coffee or—"

"Go."

"The kitchen needs clearing. I'll do that and then—"

They're both cut off as Charlie barrels onto the lanai. He's wearing a brightly-colored pair of Moana swim-shorts and a huge grin.

Danny's smile grows. "I'm good," he breathes, gripping Steve's tee-shirt and pulling him in for another kiss. "Everything I need is right here."

_**The End**_


End file.
